Margaret  E.  Burton 


Cvbrarp  of  Che  theological  ^eminarp 

PRINCETON  • NEW  JERSEY 
•a^D- 

PRESENTED  BY 

Delavan  L.  Pierson 
CT  105  . B85 

Burton,  Margaret  E.  b.  1885. 
Comrades  in  service 


EDITED  UNDER  THE  DIRECTION  OF  THE 

MISSIONARY  EDUCATION  MOVEMENT 

OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  AND  CANADA 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


N.  B. — Special  helps  and  denominational  mission  study  litera- 
ture for  this  course  can  be  obtained  by  corresponding 
with  the  Secretary  of  your  mission  board  or  society. 


■m&K 


COMRADES  IN 
SERVICE 


BY 


/ 


MARGARET  E.  BURTON 


NEW  YORK 

MISSIONARY  EDUCATION  MOVEMENT 
OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  AND  CANADA 

I9I5 


Copyright,  1915,  by 

Missionary  Education  Movement  of  the 
United  States  and  Canada 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

ix 


PREFACE 


I A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY  . 
Jacob  A.  Riis 


II 

A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 

Chundra  Lela 

. 25 

III 

A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS  . . . 

J.  A.  Burns 

45 

IV 

THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN  . 
Kaji  Yajima 

61 

V 

A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE  .... 
Dwight  L.  Moody 

• 79 

VI 

A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN  .... 

Li  Bi  Cu 

. IOI 

VII 

A PACIFIC  PIONEER 

Thomas  Crosby 

. H5 

VIII 

A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER  .... 
Samuel  Adjai  Crowther 

. 131 

IX 

A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK  . . 

Frances  Jackson  Coppin 

. 149 

X 

AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS  . . . 

Syngman  Rhee 

. 165 

XI 

THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND  .... 
Grace  H.  Dodge 

. 179 

ILLUSTRATIONS 

Jacob  A.  Riis 

FACING 
PAGE 
. . I 

Chundra  Lela 

• 25 

Oh,  Mother  Ganges  ! 

. . 28 

J.  A.  Burns 

• 45 

Alone  in  the  Mountains  .... 

. 56 

Kaji  Yajima 

61 

Dwight  L.  Moody 

. 79 

Round  Top 

. . 98 

Li  Bi  Cu 

. IOI 

Thomas  Crosby 

. 

. 115 

Samuel  Adjai  Crowther  .... 

. 131 

Frances  Jackson  Coppin  .... 

. 149 

Syngman  Rhee 

. 165 

Political  Prisoners 

. . 172 

Greyston,  Riverdale  on  the  Hudson 

. 184 

PREFACE 


“ What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  gift  of  life  ? ” 
We  to  whom  this  gift  is  still  a new  and  untried  thing 
are  standing  eager-eyed  before  this  challenging  ques- 
tion. What  are  we  going  to  do  with  it  ? A few  of  us 
perhaps  are  replying,  “ I shall  give  my  life  to  healing — 
or  to  teaching — or  to  farming — or  to  social  service — or 
to  business — or  to  the  ministry — or  to  home-making.” 
Most  of  us,  however,  cannot  yet  answer  so  definitely. 
There  are  so  many  things  which  we  must  think  about ; 
the  kind  of  ability  we  have;  the  opportunities  of  train- 
ing that  are  ours ; the  claims  other  people  have  a right 
to  make  on  us ; the  needs  and  opportunities  in  different 
kinds  of  work;  and  like  factors.  It  may  be  many 
months  and  years  before  most  of  us  can  say  just 
exactly  what  we  are  going  to  do  in  the  years  to  come. 
But  is  there  not,  after  all,  an  answer  to  this  question 
which  all  of  us  can  make  even  now  ? 

“ What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  gift  of  life?  ” 
The  “ Comrades  in  Service”  of  whom  this  book  tells 
were  very  different  from  each  other.  They  were  of  dif- 
ferent nations  and  different  races;  they  lived  in  differ- 
ent lands  and  spoke  different  languages.  Some  of  them 
were  rich  and  some  were  desperately  poor;  some  had 
every  opportunity  for  education  and  some  had  almost 


IX 


X 


PREFACE 


none;  some  had  social  prominence  and  some  were 
slaves;  some  were  born  into  beautiful  Christian  homes 
and  some  were  taught  to  worship  idols.  But  as  you 
become  acquainted  with  these  comrade-folk  I think 
that  you  will  find  that  they  were  all  alike  in  the  answer 
they  made  to  that  ringing  challenge,  “ What  are  you 
going  to  do  with  the  gift  of  life?  ” 

I gratefully  acknowledge  my  indebtedness  to  the 
publishers  who  permitted  the  use  of  material  from  The 
Making  of  an  American , by  Jacob  A.  Riis;  An  Indian 
Priestess , by  Mrs.  Lee;  Chundra  Lela,  by  Z.  F.  Griffin; 
The  Black  Bishop , by  Jesse  Page;  The  Life  of  Dwight 
L . Moody,  by  his  son;  Up  and  Down  the  North 
Pacific  Coast,  by  Thomas  Crosby;  and  Reminiscences 
of  School  Life  and  Teaching,  by  Mrs.  Coppin.  Heart- 
iest thanks  are  also  due  to  many  personal  friends  and 
acquaintances  of  these  “ Comrades  in  Service.”  Miss 
Ruth  Davis,  the  Rev.  George  Heber  Jones,  Mr.  Sher- 
wood Eddy,  Miss  Josephine  Piny  on,  and  others  have 
contributed  much  material  without  which  several  of 
these  sketches  would  have  been  impossible.  I am  also 
deeply  grateful  to  those  subjects  of  sketches  who  are 
still  living,  who  not  only  generously  permitted  me  to 
write  of  them,  but  furnished  me  with  information 
about  themselves  and  their  work. 

Margaret  E.  Burton. 


Chicago,  Illinois,  June  1,  1915. 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


I have  lived  in  the  best  of  times,  when  you  do  not  have  to 
dream  things  good,  but  can  make  them  so. 

— Jacob  A.  Riis. 


JACOB  A.  RIIS 


Copyright,  J.  E.  Purdy 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


Into  the  little  tiled-roof  house  of  a schoolmaster 
of  the  ancient  town  of  Ribe,  on  the  seacoast  of  Den- 
mark, there  was  born  one  day  in  1849  a little  boy 
who  was  named  Jacob.  His  father  wanted  him  to  be- 
come a schoolmaster  like  himself,  and  one  of  this  little 
Danish  boy’s  earliest  memories  was  of  being  led,  pro- 
testing, through  the  crooked  cobble-stoned  streets  of 
Ribe  to  the  schoolhouse.  He  evidently  failed  to  make 
a good  initial  impression  on  the  schoolmistress,  for 
a large  portion  of  that  first  day  in  school  was  spent  in 
an  empty  hogshead,  in  whose  capacious  depths  he 
formed  a deep  and  undying  hatred  of  school  and  all 
that  pertained  thereto. 

Ribe  was  a wonderful  place  for  boys.  There  was 
splendid  fishing  in  the  river  and  fine  places  along  the 
forget-me-not- fringed  banks  where  one  could  build 
fires  and  roast  fish  and  potatoes.  Once  there  had  been 
a great  castle  in  Ribe,  and  the  moat  around  the  green 
castle  hill  was  now  filled  with  long  rippling  reeds,  grow- 
ing higher  than  a boy’s  head,  and  making  a perfect  jun- 
gle in  which  to  hunt  for  tigers  and  grizzlies,  and  other 
wild  beasts.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  so  loved  the 
clean  free  sweep  of  meadow  and  ocean  and  river,  and  so 
gloried  in  the  stories  of  the  sturdy  Norsemen  of  olden 


2 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


days,  that  Jacob  Riis  so  hated  the  one  tenement  of 
Ribe,  which  rejoiced  in  the  appropriate  name  of  Rags 
Hall.  Its  crowded,  dirty,  spiritless  atmosphere  was  such 
a contrast  to  all  his  boyish  soul  admired  that,  when 
he  was  about  twelve  years  old,  he  took  his  Christ- 
mas gift  of  a shining  silver  “mark”  (worth  about 
twenty-five  cents)  and,  holding  it  before  the  astonished 
eyes  of  the  poorest  and  most  “ shiftless  ” householder 
of  Rags  Hall,  announced  that  he  would  present  it  to 
him  on  condition  that  he  would  clean  up  his  house 
and  his  children. 

When  Jacob  was  fourteen  years  old,  he  decided  that 
he  had  had  enough  of  school  and  would  like  to  learn 
to  be  a carpenter.  His  father  consented  that  he  should 
serve  a year’s  apprenticeship  to  the  best  carpenter  in 
Ribe,  and  then  go  to  Copenhagen  as  an  apprentice  to 
a great  builder.  For  four  years  Jacob  worked  in 
Copenhagen  learning  his  trade,  and  then,  having  re- 
ceived his  certificate  as  an  enrolled  carpenter  of  the 
guild  of  Copenhagen,  went  home  to  Ribe  to  ask  Elisa- 
beth to  be  his  wife.  But  Elisabeth  said  no,  and  with 
that  answer  all  the  light  and  laughter  of  life  seemed 
blotted  out  for  Jacob.  He  longed  to  go  as  far  away 
from  Denmark  as  possible  and  one  May  morning,  with 
a curl  of  Elisabeth’s  hair  in  a locket  around  his  neck, 
and  only  a little  more  than  enough  money  for  a steer- 
age passage  to  America  in  his  pocket,  he  set  forth  to 
try  to  forget  his  troubles  in  the  life  of  a far-away 
country. 

He  landed  in  New  York  after  a long  and  stormy 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


3 


passage,  and  four  days  after  his  arrival  joined  a gang 
of  men  who  were  being  sent  to  work  at  Brady’s  Bend 
Iron  Works  on  the  Allegheny  river.  At  Brady’s 
Bend  he  was  put  to  work  building  huts  for  the  miners, 
and  very  vigorously  he  went  about  his  task  in  the 
effort  to  forget  the  terrible  homesickness  which  at- 
tacked him  every  time  he  looked  at  the  wooded  hills 
which  rose  up  on  every  side  and  seemed  to  him  like 
prison  walls  shutting  him  away  from  the  meadows  of 
Denmark. 

One  July  morning,  when  Jacob  was  working  in  the 
carpenter  shop  as  usual,  some  one  brought  the  startling 
news  that  France  had  declared  war  on  Prussia,  and 
that  Denmark  was  expected  to  join  forces  with  her 
old  ally.  Five  minutes  after  the  Danish  boy  had  heard 
the  news  he  was  in  the  company’s  office,  asking  for 
his  wages,  and  a few  minutes  later,  having  hurled  his 
possessions  into  his  trunk,  he  was  running  for  the  sta- 
tion, the  trunk  on  his  shoulder.  The  things  which  he 
had  not  been  able  to  get  into  the  trunk  he  sold  for 
what  he  could  get  for  them,  and  adding  this  sum  to 
his  wages  was  able  to  buy  a ticket  to  Buffalo.  He 
hoped  that  at  Buffalo  he  would  find  Frenchmen  who 
would  be  willing  to  help  him  get  back  to  Europe  to 
fight  their  enemy,  but  this  was  a vain  hope,  and  he 
was  forced  to  give  his  watch  and  his  trunk  and  all  its 
contents  to  a pawnbroker  in  order  to  get  a ticket  to 
New  York.  He  reached  New  York  with  one  cent  in 
his  pocket,  but  with  high  hopes  of  being  sent  at  once 
to  the  front.  There  again,  however,  he  was  doomed  to 


4 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


bitter  disappointment.  The  Danish  consul  registered 
his  request  to  be  sent  to  Denmark  in  case  of  war,  but 
could  do  no  more.  The  French  did  not  seem  to  be 
fitting  out  any  volunteer  army,  and  no  one  was  paying 
the  passage  of  fighting  men  back  to  Europe.  Riis 
pawned  his  revolver  and  his  top-boots  to  pay  his 
boarding-house  bill,  and  then,  having  no  money, 
set  out  for  the  country  with  all  that  he  had  left, 
a linen  duster  and  a pair  of  socks,  in  a gripsack  over 
his  shoulder. 

He  walked  till  about  daylight,  then  curled  up  in  a 
wagon  and  went  to  sleep.  It  was  an  unfortunate 
place  to  select  for  a nap,  for  the  wagon  proved  to 
be  a milk  cart,  whose  irate  driver  hauled  the  sleeper 
out  by  his  feet  and  dumped  him  into  the  gutter  before 
starting  on  his  early  morning  rounds.  About  noon, 
footsore  and  faint  with  hunger,  for  he  had  had  no 
food  since  the  day  before,  Riis  wandered  aimlessly 
into  the  open  gates  of  Fordham  College.  He  sat  down 
to  rest  under  a tree,  so  exhausted  and  famished  that 
when  a kindly  monk  asked  him  if  he  was  hungry,  he 
confessed  that  he  was,  although  he  says  that  he  had 
no  intention  of  making  such  an  admission.  The  food 
gave  him  strength  to  go  on  and  at  night  he  found 
temporary  work  with  a truck  farmer. 

For  several  days  Riis  tramped  through  the  country, 
doing  odd  jobs  for  his  meals  and  sleeping  in  the  fields 
at  night,  always  trying  to  reach  the  sea  in  the  hope 
of  finding  some  way  back  to  Denmark.  Finally,  his 
wanderings  brought  him  back  to  New  York  where  he 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


5 


pawned  his  boots  for  a dollar,  fortified  himself  with 
a good  dinner,  and  bought  a ticket  to  Perth  Amboy, 
New  Jersey,  with  what  was  left.  From  Perth 
Amboy  he  walked  for  two  days,  sustained  by  two 
apples,  and  at  sunset  of  the  second  day  arrived  at  New 
Brunswick.  He  spent  the  night  curled  up  on  a brown- 
stone  slab  in  the  cemetery,  and  early  the  next  morning 
was  out  looking  for  work.  Finding  nothing  in  New 
Brunswick,  he  went  on  to  a town  called  “ Little  Wash- 
ington,” where  he  succeeded  in  securing  a job  in  a 
brickyard.  Here  he  stayed  for  six  weeks,  until  one 
day  he  heard  that  a volunteer  company  was  ready  to 
sail  for  France.  That  night  he  started  for  New  York, 
arriving  there  just  after  the  company  had  sailed.  Re- 
peated appeals  to  the  French  consul  were  unavailing, 
and  a plea  to  the  captain  of  a French  man-of-war  in 
the  harbor  was  equally  so.  Finally,  however,  it  seemed 
as  if  his  persistent  efforts  were  to  be  rewarded.  He 
succeeded  in  getting  a job  as  stoker  on  a steamer  which 
was  due  to  sail  for  France  in  an  hour.  He  ran  all 
the  way  to  Battery  Place  for  his  valise,  and  all  the 
way  back,  arriving  breathless  just  in  time  to  see  the 
steamer  swing  into  the  river  beyond  his  reach.  This 
was  his  last  hope  and  he  was  again  left  penniless  in 
New  York. 

It  was  now  late  autumn,  too  late  to  get  employment 
on  farms  or  in  brickyards.  The  city  was  full  of  idle 
men  and  Riis’s  repeated  efforts  to  find  something  to 
do  were  fruitless.  Day  after  day  he  walked  the  streets 
trying  to  find  work,  and  to  forget  the  terrible  hunger 


6 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


which  was  his  constant  companion.  Night  after  night 
he  slept  in  the  shelter  of  doorways  or  ash-bins,  waked 
up  time  and  again  by  the  toe  of  a policeman’s  boot  and 
told  to  “ move  on.”  But  he  says : “ I was  too  proud  in 
all  my  misery  to  beg.  I do  not  believe  I ever  did.  But 
I remember  well  a basement  window  at  the  downtown 
Delmonico’s,  the  silent  appearance  of  my  ravenous 
face  at  which,  at  a certain  hour  in  the  evening,  always 
evoked  a generous  supply  of  meat-bones  and  rolls  from 
a white-capped  cook  who  spoke  French.  That  was  the 
saving  clause.  I accepted  his  rolls  as  instalments  of 
the  debt  his  country  owed  me,  or  ought  to  owe  me,  for 
my  unavailing  efforts  in  its  behalf.” 

There  was  just  one  bright  spot  in  Jacob  Riis’s  life 
during  these  dark  days,  the  devotion  of  an  adoring 
little  black-and-tan,  who  had  shared  a doorway  with 
him  one  cold  night  and  had  been  the  loyal  companion 
of  his  miseries  ever  after.  One  terrible  night  of  storm, 
Riis,  drenched  to  the  skin  and  unutterably  wretched  and 
hungry,  with  no  prospect  of  shelter  or  food,  was  almost 
overcome  by  discouragement.  Home  and  Elisabeth 
seemed  hopelessly  far  away  and  unattainable  and  the 
dark  river  terribly  near.  Then  the  little  dog  pressed 
close  against  him  for  sympathy  and  banished  the  dread- 
ful sense  of  desolation.  Taking  him  up  in  his  arms, 
Riis  tramped  through  the  torrents  of  rain  to  the  police 
station  and  applied  for  shelter.  The  sergeant  saw  the 
drenched  little  dog  under  the  tatters  of  Riis’s  ragged 
coat,  and  ordered  him  to  put  it  outside.  There  was 
nothing  else  to  do — to  stay  in  the  streets  through  such  a 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


7 


night  was  to  perish — and  most  reluctantly  Riis  left  his 
little  friend  curled  up  in  a ball  on  the  steps,  waiting 
for  him. 

The  police  station  was  terribly  crowded  with  the 
worst  type  of  tramps,  but  Riis  was  utterly  exhausted 
and  soon  fell  asleep.  He  woke  up  long  before  morn- 
ing, put  his  hand  to  his  throat,  and  found  that  some 
one  had  cut  the  string  around  his  neck  and  stolen  the 
gold  locket  in  which  he  had  kept  the  little  shining  curl 
which  he  felt  to  be  his  last  link  with  home.  Heart- 
broken, he  rushed  to  the  sergeant  with  his  story,  only 
to  be  called  a thief,  accused  of  having  stolen  the 
locket,  and  threatened  with  imprisonment.  It  was  too 
much,  coming  after  days  and  nights  of  suffering,  and 
all  the  bitterness  in  his  heart  poured  itself  out  in  angry 
words.  He  never  remembered  what  he  said,  but  he 
remembered  that  the  sergeant  ordered  the  doorman 
to  put  him  out,  and  that  the  little  dog,  seeing  the  door- 
man lay  unfriendly  hands  upon  his  beloved  friend, 
sprang  at  him  and  buried  his  teeth  in  his  leg.  The 
doorman  caught  the  little  beast  by  its  legs  and  beat  out 
its  brains  against  the  stone  steps,  and  Jacob  Riis,  mad 
with  such  rage  as  he  had  never  before  imagined, 
snatched  up  paving-stones  from  the  gutter  and  hurled 
them  at  the  police  station  until  the  frightened  ser- 
geant ordered  two  policemen  to  disarm  him  and  take 
him  out  of  the  district.  They  left  him  at  the  nearest 
ferry,  and  he  gave  the  ferryman  his  silk  handkerchief 
to  take  him  to  Jersey  City.  For  four  days  he  walked 
along  the  railroad  tracks,  living  on  apples  and  an  occa- 


8 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


sional  meal  earned  by  odd  jobs,  and  sleeping  in  empty 
barns  at  night.  When  he  reached  Philadelphia  he 
found  friends  in  need,  in  the  Danish  consul  and  his 
wife,  who  gave  him  a two  weeks’  rest  in  their  home 
and  then  sent  him  to  friends  in  Jamestown. 

The  following  winter  Riis  spent  in  Dexterville,  not 
far  from  Jamestown,  felling  trees  and  trapping  musk- 
rats. It  was  during  this  winter  that  he  first  made  his 
appearance  upon  the  lecture  platform.  There  was  a so- 
ciety of  Scandinavian  workingmen  in  Jamestown  who 
had  had  little  opportunity  for  education,  to  whom  Riis 
undertook  to  lecture  twice  a week  on  astronomy  and 
geology.  For  several  weeks  he  held  his  audience  spell- 
bound by  his  learned  discourses  on  the  formation  and 
development  of  the  earth,  illustrated  freely  with  im- 
promptu drawings  of  saurians,  the  ichthyosauri,  and 
other  prehistoric  beasts.  But  when  he  attempted  to 
explain  latitude  and  longitude,  his  audience  lost  confi- 
dence in  him.  After  he  had  struggled  for  some  time  to 
make  the  matter  clear,  an  old  sea-captain  arose  in  the 
body  of  the  house  and  declared  that  a man  who  could 
not  explain  so  simple  a thing  as  that  evidently  knew 
nothing  whatever.  The  audience  at  once  took  the  old 
captain’s  word  for  it  and  departed  in  a body,  convinced 
that  none  of  the  amazing  tales  which  they  had  been 
hearing  were  worthy  of  credence  on  the  part  of  sensible 
men. 

In  the  spring  Riis  walked  from  Dexterville  to  West- 
field,  and  in  Westfield  worked  for  a doctor  for  a 
month,  earning  enough  money  to  take  the  train  to  Buf- 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


9 


falo  and  begin  life  there  with  a few  extra  dollars  in  his 
pocket.  At  Buffalo  he  worked  for  a time  in  a lumber- 
yard, but  lost  his  position  before  long  by  taking  the 
part  of  some  newly  arrived  German  laborers  who  were 
being  abused  by  a tyrannical  foreman.  He  then  went 
to  work  in  a cabinet  factory.  It  was  while  working  in 
this  factory  that  he  first  tried  his  hand  at  teaching. 
One  of  his  fellow  workmen  was  an  elderly  Dane,  who 
had  worked  so  hard  in  childhood  that  he  had  never 
had  time  for  the  rudiments  of  education.  Riis  under- 
took to  make  up  this  lack,  and  night  after  night  the 
older  man  came  to  Riis’s  little  bedroom  and  by  the 
light  of  the  little  lamp  soon  learned  to  read  and  write 
the  language  of  his  adopted  country. 

After  several  months  of  varied  experiences  in  Buf- 
falo Riis  accepted  an  invitation  to  be  a traveling  sales- 
man for  a firm  of  his  countrymen  who  had  started  a 
cooperative  furniture  factory  in  Jamestown.  His 
efforts  in  this  line  were  successful  enough  to  encourage 
him  to  become  an  agent  for  a “ patent  flat  and  fluting 
iron,”  in  the  interests  of  which  he  canvassed  several 
of  the  states  of  the  Union,  until  a fever  laid  him  low 
in  Franklin,  Pennsylvania.  When  at  last  he  was  well 
enough  to  travel,  he  started  for  New  York,  walking  all 
the  way  and  earning  just  enough  by  the  sale  of  his 
irons  to  pay  for  food  and  lodging.  It  was  spring  when 
he  started  from  Franklin,  but  the  leaves  along  the  Hud- 
son were  aflame  with  gold  and  scarlet  before  he  finally 
reached  New  York. 

He  spent  his  last  twenty  dollars  for  a course  in 


10 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


telegraphy  at  a business  college  in  New  York,  and 
then  answered  an  advertisement  for  a “ city  editor  ” in 
a Long  Island  weekly  paper.  He  filled  this  position 
for  two  weeks,  and  having  by  that  time  received  con- 
clusive proof  that  the  editor  was  exceedingly  “ bad 
pay,”  went  back  to  New  York  no  richer  than  when  he 
had  come  except  for  Bob,  a Newfoundland  puppy  which 
some  one  had  given  him. 

His  next  occupation  was  the  peddling  of  an  illus- 
trated edition  of  Hard  Times.  Long  afterward  he 
declared  that  no  amount  of  good  fortune  could  ever 
turn  his  head  as  long  as  that  book  stood  on  his 
shelves.  He  and  Bob  were  a living  illustration  of 
“ hard  times,”  for  they  were  earning  barely  enough 
to  keep  them  alive.  Bob  fared  better  than  his  master, 
for  he  was  able  to  coax  many  a meal  from  the  kitchen 
doors  of  the  houses  they  visited,  but  Riis  was  almost 
always  hungry.  Things  went  from  bad  to  worse. 
One  day  the  two  had  only  a crust  to  eat  between  them, 
and  the  next  morning  set  out  faint  with  hunger,  with- 
out a cent  for  food  for  the  day  or  shelter  at  night. 
All  day  long  they  went  from  house  to  house  without 
making  a single  sale.  Bob’s  most  persuasive  tail- 
waggings  and  his  master’s  most  eloquent  praises  of 
Dickens  had  failed  to  provide  breakfast,  dinner,  sup- 
per, or  money  for  a night’s  lodging.  Without  a cent 
in  his  pocket  Jacob  Riis  sank  down  at  night  on  the 
steps  of  Cooper  Institute  utterly  exhausted  and  dis- 
couraged. His  dismal  reflections  were  suddenly  inter- 
rupted by  the  question,  “ Why,  what  are  you  doing 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


ii 


here  ? ” and  looking  up  he  saw  the  principal  of  the  busi- 
ness college  which  he  had  attended  when  he  first  came 
back  to  New  York.  “ Books ! ” snorted  this  gentleman 
in  response  to  Riis’s  answer,  “ I guess  they  won’t 
make  you  rich.  Now,  how  would  you  like  to  be  a re- 
porter, if  you  have  got  nothing  better  to  do?  The 
manager  of  a news  agency  downtown  asked  me  to-day 
to  find  him  a bright  young  fellow  whom  he  could 
break  in.  It  isn’t  much— ten  dollars  a week  to  start 
with.  But  it  is  better  than  peddling  books,  I know. 
. . . Hard  Times.  . . . I guess  so.  What  do  you  say  ? 
I think  you  will  do.  Better  come  along  and  let  me 
give  you  a note  to  him  now.” 

To  be  a reporter  had  been  Riis’s  dream  for  many  a 
month,  and  he  could  hardly  believe  that  such  an  op- 
portunity had  really  come  to  him.  All  through  the 
night  he  and  Bob  walked  up  and  down  Broadway, 
thinking.  “ What  had  happened  had  stirred  me  pro- 
foundly,” he  wrote  many  years  later.  “ For  the  sec- 
ond time  I saw  a hand  held  out  to  save  me  from  wreck 
just  when  it  seemed  inevitable,  and  I knew  it  for  his 
hand  to  whose  will  I was  at  last  beginning  to  bow  in 
humility  that  had  been  a stranger  to  me  before.  It 
had  ever  been  my  own  will,  my  own  way,  upon  which 
I insisted.  In  the  shadow  of  Grace  Church  I bowed 
my  head  against  the  granite  wall  of  the  gray  tower, 
and  prayed  for  strength  to  do  the  work  which  I had 
so  long  and  arduously  sought  and  which  had  now  come 
to  me;  the  while  Bob  sat  and  looked  on,  saying  clearly 
enough  with  his  wagging  tail  that  he  did  not  know 


12  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

what  was  going  on,  but  that  he  was  sure  it  was  all 
right.” 

The  next  morning  Jacob  Riis  presented  himself  for 
duty  at  the  New  York  News  Association,  and  was 
assigned  to  report  a luncheon  in  the  Astor  House. 
In  the  midst  of  such  savory  food  as  he  had  not  seen 
or  smelled  in  many  a day,  he  wrote  his  report,  and 
won  from  the  editor  a brief,  “ You’ll  do!  Take  that 
desk  and  report  at  ten  every  morning  sharp.”  Then, 
having  had  no  food  for  three  days,  he  fell  in  a swoon 
on  his  way  up  the  stairs  of  a Danish  boarding-house, 
and  lay  there  until  some  one  stumbled  against  him  in 
the  dark  and  carried  him  in. 

All  through  the  autumn  and  winter  Riis  worked  with 
the  news  agency,  beginning  his  day  promptly  at  ten 
in  the  morning  and  seldom  reaching  home  until  one 
or  two  in  the  morning  of  the  next  day.  In  the 
spring  a group  of  politicians  in  Brooklyn,  who  had 
started  a weekly  newspaper,  asked  him  to  be  their 
reporter,  and  two  weeks  after  he  had  joined  them  made 
him  editor  of  the  paper.  When  the  paper  had  served 
its  purpose  by  helping  its  owners  to  win  in  the  fall 
elections,  they  decided  to  give  it  up,  but  at  Riis’s 
earnest  entreaty  finally  consented  to  sell  it  to  him  for 
the  small  sum  which  he  could  pay  down,  and  his  notes 
for  future  payments.  For  the  next  year  Riis  was  edi- 
tor, reporter,  publisher,  and  advertising  agent  of  a 
big  four-page  weekly,  and  by  an  almost  incredible 
amount  of  work  became  its  sole  owner  by  June.  The 
day  on  which  he  made  his  last  payment  was  Elisabeth’s 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


13 


birthday,  and  that  night  he  sent  a letter  addressed  to 
her  speeding  on  its  way  to  Denmark. 

It  was  while  he  was  editing  the  News  that  he  be- 
came powerfully  stirred  by  the  preaching  of  the  Rev. 
Ichabod  Simmons,  and  definitely  consecrated  him- 
self to  the  service  of  God  and  his  fellows.  With 
characteristic  whole-heartedness  he  decided  to  give  up 
his  editorial  work  and  become  a minister,  but  was  re- 
strained by  Mr.  Simmons,  who  showed  him  that  the 
world  had  need  of  “ consecrated  pens  ” as  well  as  con- 
secrated tongues.  “ Then  and  there  I consecrated 
mine/’  says  Mr.  Riis.  The  News  was  promptly  dedi- 
cated to  the  cause  of  reform,  regardless  of  the  conse- 
quent unpopularity  of  its  owner. 

Into  the  midst  of  these  busy  days,  there  came  one 
early  winter  afternoon  a letter  half  covered  with  for- 
eign stamps.  Elisabeth  did  not  know  how  many  stamps 
it  took  to  carry  a letter  from  Denmark  to  America, 
and  because  she  was  afraid  to  ask  anybody  about  it, 
she  put  on  three  times  as  many  as  were  required. 
When  he  had  taken  the  letter  up  to  his  own  little 
room  and  finally  summoned  the  courage  to  read  it,  the 
face  of  the  world  changed  for  Jacob  Riis.  “ I knelt 
down,”  he  says,  “ and  prayed  long  and  fervently  that 
I might  strive  with  all  my  might  to  deserve  the  great 
happiness  that  had  come  to  me.”  The  doctor  had 
ordered  a rest  and  change,  the  newspaper  could  be 
sold  for  five  times  what  had  been  paid  for  it,  and  there 
was  nothing  to  prevent  the  prospective  bridegroom 
from  going  home  to  claim  Elisabeth  almost  immedi- 


14 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


ately.  In  a very  few  weeks  in  the  old  Domkirke  of 
Ribe  he  and  the  Elisabeth  of  his  dreams  were  made 
man  and  wife. 

Soon  after  Jacob  Riis  returned  to  America  with 
his  wife  he  was  offered  a position  as  reporter  on  the 
New  York  Tribune.  For  six  months  he  worked  hard 
for  a salary  so  small  that  he  was  forced  to  draw  on 
his  little  bank  account  to  make  both  ends  meet.  Then 
one  night  when  he  had  been  uptown  on  a late  assign- 
ment, and  was  running  at  full  speed  through  a blinding 
snowstorm  to  get  his  report  in  before  the  paper  went 
to  press,  he  collided  with  the  city  editor  of  the  Tribune 
so  violently  as  to  throw  him  off  his  feet  into  a snow- 
drift. The  irate  remarks  which  issued  from  the  drift 
convinced  Riis  that  his  days  with  the  Tribune  were 
numbered,  and  he  waited  in  despair  for  the  victim’s 
recognition  of  his  assailant.  But  the  city  editor’s 
curiosity  as  to  the  cause  of  Riis’s  mad  haste  seemed 
more  pronounced  than  his  wrath.  “ Do  you  always 
run  like  that  when  you  are  out  on  assignments  ? ” he 
inquired,  after  listening  to  Riis’s  explanation.  “ When 
it  is  late  like  this — yes,”  Riis  answered.  “ How  else 
would  I get  my  copy  in?”  “Well,”  was  the  editor’s 
comment,  “ just  take  a reef  when  you  round  the 
corner.  Don’t  run  your  city  editor  down  again.” 

The  next  morning  Riis  went  to  the  office  with  a 
sinking  heart.  He  had  not  been  there  long  before  he 
was  summoned  to  the  city  editor’s  desk,  and  the  first 
words  he  heard  seemed  to  confirm  his  worst  fore- 
bodings. 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


15 


“ Mr.  Riis,”  the  editor  began  stiffly,  “ you  knocked 
me  down  last  night  without  cause.” 

“ Yes,  sir ! But  I ” Riis  interrupted. 

“ Into  a snowdrift,”  the  editor  continued.  “ Nice 
thing  for  a reporter  to  do  to  his  commanding  officer. 
Now,  sir!  this' will  not  do.  We  must  find  some  way 
of  preventing  it  in  the  future.  Our  man  at  Police 
Headquarters  has  left.  I am  going  to  send  you  up 
there  in  his  place.  You  can  run  there  all  you  want 
to,  and  you  will  want  to  all  you  can.  It  is  a place  that 
needs  a man  who  will  run  to  get  his  copy  in  and  tell 
the  truth  and  stick  to  it.  You  will  find  plenty  of 
fighting  there.  But  don’t  go  knocking  people  down — 
unless  you  have  to.” 

Riis  went  out  from  the  editor’s  office  and  did  two 
things.  He  telegraphed  his  wife,  “ Got  staff  appoint- 
ment. Police  Headquarters.  $25  a week.  Hur- 
rah.” And  facing  what  he  knew  to  be  the  most  diffi- 
cult position  on  the  paper,  remembering  how  hard  had 
been  the  fight  his  predecessor  had  had  to  wage,  he  com- 
mended his  work  and  himself  to  the  God  who  gives 
victory,  and  took  hold ! Both  actions  were  characteris- 
tic. Prayer  in  the  midst  of  his  tasks  was  as  natural 
to  Riis  as  breathing,  for  he  regarded  his  work  as  a 
reporter  as  a God-given  opportunity. 

“ The  reporter  who  is  behind  the  scenes,”  he  once 
said,  “ sees  the  tumult  of  passions,  and  not  rarely  a 
human  heroism  that  redeems  all  the  rest.  It  is  his  task 
so  to  portray  it  that  we  can  see  all  its  meaning,  or  at 
all  events  catch  the  human  drift  of  it,  not  merely  the 


i6 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


foulness  and  the  reek  of  blood.  If  he  can  do  that 
he  has  performed  a signal  service,  and  his  murder  story- 
may  easily  come  to  speak  more  eloquently  to  the 
minds  of  thousands  than  the  sermon  preached  to  a 
hundred  in  the  church  on  Sunday.” 

With  such  a conception  as  this  of  the  opportunity 
of  his  work,  prayer  in  the  midst  of  it  all  was  inevitable. 
“ My  supplications,”  he  said,  “ ordinarily  take  the 
form  of  putting  the  case  plainly  to  him  who  is  the 
source  of  all  right  and  justice,  and  leaving  it  so.” 

The  first  years  of  work  at  the  Mulberry  Street 
police  quarters  were  years  of  constant  fight  for  Jacob 
Riis.  “ Somebody  was  always  fighting  somebody  else 
for  some  fancied  injury  or  act  of  bad  faith  in  the  gath- 
ering of  the  news,”  he  says,  and  upon  the  arrival  of 
the  new  reporter  from  the  Tribune  all  made  common 
cause  against  him.  The  record  of  his  working  hours 
tells  of  ceaseless  strenuous  struggle  to  get  for  his  paper 
the  news  which  rival  reporters  and  the  police  were 
determined  he  should  not  get.  But  the  greatest  fight 
of  all  those  fighting  years,  says  Jacob  Riis,  was  with 
himself.  His  blood  had  never  ceased  to  boil  at  the 
memory  of  that  night  of  pouring  rain  when  at  the 
door  of  the  police  station  his  loyal  little  dog  friend  had 
been  killed  before  his  eyes.  And  now  that  he  had  a 
recognized  place  at  the  police  headquarters,  and  the 
backing  of  the  Tribune,  nothing  would  have  been  easier 
than  to  go  to  the  records  of  the  Church  Street  Police 
Station,  find  out  the  name  of  the  cruel  sergeant  and  de- 
mand his  punishment.  Time  after  time  he  went  to  the 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


1 7 


station  to  begin  his  search  in  the  record  books,  and 
again  and  again  he  turned  away,  until  one  day,  as  he 
held  in  his  hand  the  very  book  which  would  have  given 
him  the  sergeant’s  name,  he  thought  of  a plan  of  re- 
venge which  his  heart  could  approve.  He  would 
destroy,  not  the  sergeant,  but  the  system  of  police 
lodging-houses  of  which  the  sergeant  had  been  only 
an  instrument.  With  the  record  book  in  his  hands,  he 
vowed  that  if  God  gave  him  strength  he  would  fight  the 
unutterably  filthy  police  lodging-houses,  where  hard- 
ened tramps  and  impressionable  penniless  boys,  such 
as  he  had  been,  were  herded  together  in  utter  wretched- 
ness, until  not  a lodging-house  was  left.  He  set  the 
book  down  unopened,  his  fight  with  himself  over,  his 
long  fight  with  those  breeders  of  physical  and  moral 
disease  begun. 

It  was  a long  fight  and  a slow  one,  and  many  a time 
Jacob  Riis  kept  up  his  courage  only  by  going  out  and 
watching  a stone-cutter  hammer  away  at  his  stone  one 
hundred  times  without  so  much  as  a crack  appearing, 
until  finally  at  the  one  hundred  and  first  blow  the  rock 
would  split  in  two.  Riis  never  lost  a chance  to  strike 
a blow.  He  felt  sure  that  if  the  people  of  New  York 
understood  the  evils  of  the  police  lodging-houses  they 
would  never  tolerate  them,  and  he  told  the  truth  in 
no  uncertain  terms  through  the  columns  of  newspaper 
after  newspaper,  by  pictures,  by  lantern  slides,  by  re- 
ports to  committees  and  boards,  until  finally,  more  than 
fourteen  years  after  the  fight  was  started,  when  Mr. 
Roosevelt  was  commissioner  of  police,  the  doors  of  the 


i8 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


police  lodging-rooms  were  closed  forever,  and  the 
murder  of  the  little  dog  was  avenged ! 

Another  fight  of  the  first  years  as  police  reporter  on 
the  Tribune  was  with  Mulberry  Bend,  a slum  district 
filled  with  tenements  far  more  congested  and  dan- 
gerous than  the  Rags  Hall  which  had  so  displeased 
the  twelve-year-old  schoolboy.  Mulberry  Bend  was  a 
center  of  both  disease  and  crime,  and  Jacob  Riis  at- 
tacked it  single-handed.  Article  after  article  he  wrote, 
making  apparently  little  or  no  impression,  but  never 
giving  up.  Then  one  day  his  morning  newspaper 
contained  a four-line  item  telling  of  the  discovery  of 
a method  of  taking  pictures  by  flashlight.  Riis  was 
sure  that  if  he  could  make  people  see  the  Bend  at  night 
as  he  had  seen  it,  he  could  rouse  them  to  action,  and 
straightway  investigated  the  matter  of  flashlights. 
Within  two  weeks  he  was  invading  Mulberry  Bend 
night  after  night,  armed  with  flashlight  cartridges, 
which  in  those  days  were  shot  from  a revolver,  and 
which  were  more  than  terrifying  to  the  startled  in- 
habitants of  the  Bend.  Little  by  little  Riis  won  his 
fight,  and  was  rewarded  for  the  long  hours  of  volun- 
tary night  work,  on  top  of  busy  days,  by  seeing  the 
tenement-houses  of  the  Bend  condemned  by  the  Sani- 
tary Board,  and  a park  and  playground  established 
on  the  place  where  they  had  been. 

The  fight  for  the  destruction  of  Mulberry  Bend  was 
only  the  beginning  of  Jacob  Riis’  fight  with  the  slum 
and  the  tenement-house,  which  lasted  as  long  as  life 
lasted.  Day  after  day  he  put  the  facts  before  the 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


19 


people  of  New  York  City  through  the  columns  of  his 
newspaper.  Many  a night  found  him  in  church  or 
lecture  hall  showing  the  stereoptican  slides  which  he 
had  had  made  from  his  photographs,  that  both  the  eyes 
and  ears  of  the  people  of  that  great  city  might  know 
“ how  the  other  half  lives.”  One  night  an  editor  of 
Scribner's  Magazine  heard  him  lecture  and  asked  him  to 
write  an  article  for  the  magazine.  When  the  magazine 
article  came  out,  a firm  of  publishers  asked  him  to 
elaborate  it  into  a book,  and  night  after  night  he  came 
home  from  his  office  and  wrote  How  the  Other  Half 
Lives,  while  the  rest  of  the  family  slept.  How  desper- 
ately tired  he  grew  probably  no  one  knows  but  himself, 
and  even  he  hardly  realized  it  until  one  evening  in 
Boston,  he  went  to  call  on  a friend  and  found,  when 
he  tried  to  give  the  maid  his  name,  that  he  had  no  idea 
what  it  was.  But  he  felt  repaid  for  all  the  hard  work 
when  his  book  came  out  and  thousands  of  people  all 
over  the  country  were  reading  How  the  Other  Half 
Lives  and  learning  how  to  help.  This  was  the  first  of 
many  books  which  Jacob  Riis  wrote  to  tell  the  story  of 
the  needs  of  the  poor  and  the  way  to  meet  those 
needs.  Children  of  the  Tenements,  The  Battle  with 
the  Slums,  Out  of  Mulberry  Street  are  only  a few  of 
them. 

Always,  too,  he  was  helping  in  other  ways.  One 
year  he  gave  all  the  time  and  effort  he  could  spare  as 
general  agent  of  the  Council  of  Confederated  Good 
Government  Clubs. 

“ We  tore  down  unfit  tenements,  forced  the  opening 


20 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


of  parks  and  playgrounds,  the  establishment  of  a 
truant  school  system,  the  demolition  of  the  over- 
crowded old  Tombs  and  the  erection  on  its  site  of 
a decent  new  prison.  We  overhauled  the  civil  courts 
and  made  them  over  new  in  the  charter  of  the  Greater 
New  York.  We  lighted  dark  halls;  closed  the 
‘ cruller  ’ bakeries  in  tenement-house  cellars  that  had 
caused  the  loss  of  no  end  of  lives,  for  the  crullers 
were  boiled  in  fat  in  the  early  morning  hours  while 
the  tenants  slept,  and  when  the  fat  was  spilled  in  the 
fire  their  peril  was  awful.  We  fought  the  cable-car 
managers  at  home  and  the  opponents  of  a truant  school 
at  Albany.  We  backed  up  Roosevelt  in  his  fight  in 
the  Police  Board  and — well,  I shall  never  get  time  to 
tell  it  all.  But  it  was  a great  year!  ” he  summarizes. 
This  might  be  a summary  not  simply  of  that  one  year’s 
work,  but  of  all  the  later  years  of  his  life,  for  the 
destruction  of  the  tenements  and  the  establishment 
of  an  adequate  number  of  good  public  schools,  truant 
schools,  and  playgrounds,  were  causes  to  which  he  gave 
his  strength  without  reserve. 

Jacob  Riis  was  not  the  kind  of  man  to  care  greatly 
for  recognition  of  his  work.  It  was  enough  for  him 
that  the  work  was  done.  A great  many  honors  of  dif- 
ferent kinds  came  to  him,  many  of  them  nominations 
to  honorary  membership  in  various  societies  in  Amer- 
ica and  Europe.  Most  of  them  he  declined,  stuffing 
the  letters  which  offered  them  into  a pigeonhole  labeled 
tersely  with  one  of  Eugene  Field’s  verses,  descriptive 
of  “ Clow’s  Noble  Yellow  Pup  ” : 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


21 


“ Him  all  that  goodly  company 
Did  as  deliverer  hail; 

They  tied  a ribbon  round  his  neck, 

Another  round  his  tail.*’ 

There  was  one  honor,  however,  which  he  could  not 

(refuse,  fragrant  as  it  was,  with  memories  of  flowers 
and  fields  and  little  children.  When  the  meadows 
around  his  house  in  Richmond  Hill  were  radiant  with 
;•  the  gold  and  white  of  buttercups  and  daisies,  and 
! sweet  with  the  scent  of  clover  blossoms,  his  small  sons 
and  daughters  used  to  bring  him  great  armfuls  of  blos- 
soms and  beg  him  to  take  them  to  “ the  poors  ” in  the 
hot  city.  But  no  matter  how  laden  he  was  when  he 
started  from  home,  he  never  had  a single  flower  five 
minutes  after  he  had  left  the  ferry,  for  wistful  little 
faces  sprang  up  on  every  side,  wild  with  eagerness  for 
just  one  of  the  joy-bringing  blossoms.  The  sight  of 
those  for  whom  there  were  no  posies  left,  who  sat 
down  on  the  curbstone  and  dug  grimy  fists  into  eyes 
brimming  over  with  tears,  went  straight  to  the  heart 
of  Jacob  Riis,  and  one  June  morning  he  published  an 
appeal  for  flowers  in  the  newspapers,  offering  to  dis- 
pose of  any  that  were  sent  to  his  office. 

“ Flowers  came  pouring  in  from  every  corner  of  the 
compass.  They  came  in  boxes,  in  barrels,  and  in 
bunches,  from  field  and  garden,  from  town  and  coun- 
try. Express  wagons  carrying  flowers  jammed  Mul- 
berry Street  and  the  police  came  out  to  marvel  at  the 
row.  The  office  was  fairly  smothered  in  fragrance. 
A howling  mob  of  children  besieged  it.  The  reporters 


22 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


forgot  their  rivalry  and  lent  a hand  with  enthusiasm 
in  giving  out  the  flowers.  The  Superintendent  of 
Police  detailed  five  stout  patrolmen  to  help  carry 
the  abundance  to  points  of  convenient  distribution. 
Wherever  he  went,  fretful  babies  stopped  crying  and 
smiled  as  the  messengers  of  love  were  laid  against  their 
wan  cheeks.  Slovenly  women  curtsied  and  made  way. 
. . . The  Italians  in  the  Barracks  stopped  quarreling 
to  help  keep  order.  The  worst  street  became  suddenly 
good  and  neighborly.” 

The  slum’s  hungry  love  for  the  beautiful  was  a 
revelation  even  to  Jacob  Riis.  Taking  flowers  there 
was,  he  said,  “ like  cutting  windows  for  souls.”  Al- 
though he  saw  that  the  ministry  of  the  flowers  had 
assumed  proportions  far  beyond  his  ability  to  handle, 
he  knew  that  somehow,  somewhere,  the  work  must  be 
taken  care  of,  for  the  slums  must  not  starve  for  want  of 
the  fragrance  and  joyous  color  which  willing  hands 
were  ready  to  pour  in  so  lavishly.  Some  of  the  boxes 
of  flowers  had  the  initials  I.  H.  N.  on  them,  and  when 
Jacob  Riis  learned  that  they  stood  for  “ In  His  Name,” 
the  words  which  were  the  motto  of  the  King’s  Daugh- 
ters’ Society,  he  thought  he  knew  to  whom  to  entrust 
the  flowers.  The  members  of  the  society  gladly  under- 
took the  work,  but  the  needs  they  saw  as  they  took  the 
flowers  from  house  to  house  were  too  great  and  com- 
pelling to  allow  them  to  turn  away  when  summer  and 
flowers  had  gone,  and  to-day  there  stands  in  Henry 
Street  a beautiful  settlement  house  maintained  by  the 
King’s  Daughters’  Society.  What  wonder  that  when 


A SERVANT  OF  THE  CITY 


23 


on  Jacob  Riis’s  silver  wedding  day  they  asked  him  to 
let  this  settlement  house  bear  his  name,  he  could  not  say 
them  nay. 

“ I have  lived  in  the  best  of  times,”  said  Jacob  Riis, 
“ when  you  do  not  have  to  dream  things  good,  but  can 
make  them  so.”  Probably  no  one  has  ever  known  bet- 
ter than  he  what  joy  it  is  to  “ make  them  so,”  nor  could 
say  more  heartily  than  he,  when  working  days  were 
nearing  their  close,  “ I have  been  very  happy.  No 
man  ever  had  so  good  a time.” 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


All  this  I endured  just  to  find  God. 

— Chundra  Lela. 


CHUNDRA  LELA 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 

About  eighty  years  ago,  in  the  city  of  Kaski,  up  on 
the  northern  border  of  India,  among  the  Himalaya 
mountains,  a great  celebration  was  taking  place. 
There  was  a long  procession  of  gaily  decorated  ele- 
phants, and  a sumptuous  feast,  lasting  several  days, 
to  which  people  came  from  all  over  the  state  of  Nepal, 
in  which  Kaski  is  located.  All  this  was  because  a 
little  girl,  seven  years  old,  the  daughter  of  a prominent 
Brahman  priest  of  Kaski,  was  being  married  to  the 
son  of  another  wealthy  Brahman.  Because  she  was 
such  a little  girl,  it  was  decided  that  she  should  not  at 
once  go  to  her  husband’s  home,  but  continue  to  live  in 
her  father’s  house.  And  because  her  father  was  a very 
learned  man,  and  had  plenty  of  leisure  time,  he  taught 
little  Chundra  Lela  to  read  and  write,  although  it  was 
not  then  the  custom  in  India  to  give  girls  any  education 
whatever. 

But  one  day,  when  Chundra  Lela  was  nine  years 
old,  word  came  to  her  home  which  caused  lamenta- 
tions as  great  as  the  happiness  which  her  wedding  had 
brought  two  years  before.  For  her  husband  was 
dead  and  she  was  a widowr,  the  most  despised  of  all 
creatures  in  India.  Hinduism  teaches  that  the  death 
of  a husband  is  caused  by  some  sin  which  his  wife 

25 


26 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


has  committed,  perhaps  in  some  previous  existence, 
and  as  long  as  she  lives  she  is  an  outcast,  scorned  and 
ill  treated  by  every  one.  For  the  first  year  after  her 
husband’s  death  she  is  allowed  to  have  only  one  meal 
a day,  and  twice  a month  she  must  fast  for  an  entire 
day  and  night  without  even  a drop  of  water,  although 
the  heat  of  India  is  terrible.  Her  hair,  which  is  the 
pride  of  a woman  of  India,  is  cut  off  and  her  head  is 
shaved;  she  may  wear  only  the  coarsest  clothing  and 
no  ornaments;  and  is  never  allowed  to  go  to  any 
celebrations  or  appear  at  any  social  gatherings,  be- 
cause her  presence  is  supposed  to  bring  bad  luck. 
She  is  never  allowed  to  marry  again,  but  all  her  life 
is  wholly  at  the  mercy  of  other  people,  being  often  the 
drudge  and  slave  of  her  husband’s  family.  Because 
little  girls  are  married  so  early  in  India,  and  because  a 
child  is  considered  a widow  if  the  man  or  boy  to  whom 
she  is  betrothed  dies  even  if  she  is  not  yet  married, 
one  woman  in  every  six  in  that  great  country  is  a 
widow.  There  are  1 12,000  widows  less  than  ten  years 
old,  and  18,000  less  than  five.  It  was  a great  host  into 
whose  membership  nine-year-old  Chundra  Lela  entered. 

When  she  was  twelve  years  old  her  father  took 
her  with  him  on  a pilgrimage  to  the  sacred  shrine  of 
Juggernaut,  many  hundreds  of  miles  away  in  the  east- 
ern part  of  India.  The  hardships  of  so  long  a jour- 
ney in  a climate  like  that  of  India  are  very  great, 
and  were  much  greater  at  that  time  than  now,  for 
there  were  no  trains  to  carry  the  pilgrims,  and  the 
long  miles  must  be  covered  on  foot  or  in  the  bullock 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


27 


carts  or  in  palanquins.  Hundreds  of  pilgrims  died 
every  year  as  a result  of  the  difficulties  of  the  journey, 
and  Chundra  Lela’s  father  was  among  those  who  never 
returned  to  his  home.  Just  before  he  died  he  called 
his  daughter  to  him  and  gave  her  a bunch  of  keys.  He 
told  her  that  if,  when  she  reached  home,  she  would 
open  the  boxes  to  which  they  belonged,  she  would  find 
the  gold  which  she  had  inherited  from  her  husband. 

During  the  next  year  Chundra  Lela  spent  much 
time  in  studying  the  sacred  books  which  her  father 
had  taught  her  to  read,  and  at  the  end  of  the  year 
she  had  arrived  at  a momentous  decision. 

“ In  my  study  of  the  sacred  books  of  the  Hindus,” 
she  says,  “ and  especially  Bhagavad  Gita > I had 
found  that  salvation  is  promised  to  those  who  visit 
and  worship  at  all  the  holy  places,  and  if  one  would 
pay  careful  attention  to  all  such  matters  he  would  get 
a vision  of  God  in  this  world.  I decided  that  a vision 
of  God  and  forgiveness  of  sins  would  be  worth  more 
to  me  than  anything  else.” 

Accordingly  this  little  girl,  barely  fourteen  years 
old,  decided  that  she  would  go  on  a pilgrimage  to  the 
four  greatest  Hindu  shrines,  one  at  the  extreme  east 
of  India,  one  at  the  western  boundary,  one  far  in  the 
south,  and  another  as  far  to  the  north  in  the  heights  of 
the  Himalaya  mountains.  To  visit  these  four  shrines 
meant  a journey  covering  a distance  as  great  as  that 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  ocean  and  back  again, 
and  as  Chundra  Lela  must  walk  almost  all  the  way, 
it  would  take  her  many  years  to  do  this.  But  her 


2 8 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


heart  yearned  for  the  assurance  that  she  had  re- 
ceived forgiveness  for  the  unknown  sin  which  she 
supposed  had  caused  her  husband’s  death,  and  for 
the  promised  vision  of  God;  and  she  counted  no 
difficulties  or  hardships  too  great  a cost  to  pay  to 
secure  these  blessings. 

Chundra  Lela  was  sure  that  if  her  brothers  or  her 
stepmother  knew  what  she  was  planning  to  do  they 
would  not  permit  her  to  go,  so  she  did  not  tell  any 
one  of  her  plans,  except  two  other  widows  in  the 
household  who  had  for  a long  time  been  thinking  of 
going  on  this  pilgrimage  but  had  not  been  able  to  do 
so  for  lack  of  money.  They  gladly  agreed  to  go  with 
Chundra  Lela,  and  at  three  o’clock  one  morning,  be- 
fore any  one  else  was  astir,  the  three  stole  out  of 
the  house,  each  with  a long  narrow  bag  around  her 
waist,  filled  with  the  gold  coins  which  Chundra  Lela 
had  found  in  the  boxes  to  which  her  father  had  given 
her  the  keys. 

As  they  traveled,  Chundra  Lela  counted  her  sacred 
beads  over  and  over,  and  repeated  incantation  after 
incantation  which  she  had  learned  from  the  sacred 
books.  At  every  sacred  river  she  stopped  and  bathed, 
in  the  hope  of  washing  away  her  sins,  and  she  wor- 
shiped at  each  shrine  she  passed,  making  offerings  be- 
fore the  idols  and  giving  presents  to  the  priests.  At 
Monghyr,  where  there  is  a shrine  to  the  goddess  Sita, 
it  is  a part  of  the  worship  to  pour  very  hot  water 
over  the  unprotected  body,  and  this  Chundra  Lela  did, 
unflinchingly.  At  Calcutta  she  bathed  in  the  sacred 


OH,  MOTHER  GANGES! 

One  day’s  ablution  frees  from  all  sin  ! 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


29 


river  Ganges,  and  at  Gaya,  where  there  are  forty-five 
holy  places,  she  visited  them  all,  giving  a present  to 
the  priest  in  charge  of  each  of  them.  And  finally  she 
and  her  companions  reached  the  great  temple  of  Jug- 
gernaut at  Puri,  on  the  eastern  border  of  India. 

This  temple  is  one  of  the  most  magnificent  in  India, 
and  the  ground  for  eighty  miles  around  is  called 
holy.  In  this  temple  is  one  of  the  ugliest  of  all  the 
315,000,000  gods  of  Hinduism,  Juggernaut.  He  has 
only  a stump  of  a body,  no  legs,  only  parts  of  arms, 
and  huge  head,  eyes,  and  mouth.  Hosts  of  pilgrims 
from  all  over  India  try  to  be  in  Puri  at  the  time  of 
1 the  annual  Juggernaut  festival,  but  many  of  them  die 
1 of  starvation  and  hardship  on  the  journey.  At  the 
i time  of  the  festival  the  idol  is  taken  out  of  the  temple 
: and  put  in  an  enormous  car,  built  in  the  form  of  a 
tower,  to  which  are  attached  immense  ropes,  very 
long  and  heavy.  Hundreds,  even  thousands  of  people 
take  hold  of  the  ropes  and  pull  the  car  through  the 
streets,  though  it  is  so  heavy  that  it  sometimes  takes 
hours  to  get  it  started.  Every  pilgrim  tries  frantically 
to  get  hold  of  a rope,  and  those  who  cannot  often 
throw  themselves  in  front  of  the  car,  or  prostrate 
themselves  in  the  mud  beside  it  in  their  religious 
frenzy. 

Here  Chundra  Lela  spent  two  weeks,  performing 
all  the  sacred  rites  of  worship,  and  giving  generously 
to  the  temple  and  the  priests.  But  she  did  not  receive 
the  vision  of  God  for  which  she  had  prayed,  nor  did 
her  earnest  worship  of  the  ugly  idol  bring  her  a sense 


30 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


of  pardon.  So  she  and  her  companions  set  forth  again, 
to  walk  the  thousand  long,  hot  miles  which  lay  between 
them  and  the  great  shrine  of  southern  India,  on  the 
island  of  Ramesvaram,  not  far  from  Ceylon.  The  god 
worshiped  in  this  temple  is  Ram,  one  of  the  favorite 
gods  of  Hinduism,  the  story  of  whose  adventurous 
and  exciting  life  is  told  in  the  Ramayana,  one  of  the 
sacred  books  of  the  Hindus.  Months  had  lengthened 
into  years  before  Chundra  Lela  and  her  companions 
arrived  at  Ramesvaram,  but  they  finally  reached  the 
temple  and  spent  ten  days  in  worship  there.  Here 
again,  as  at  Juggernaut,  Chundra  Lela  gave  a great 
feast  to  the  priests,  and  presented  them  with  a cow  to 
supply  them  with  milk.  But  here  again  she  found  no 
peace,  and  she  and  her  friends  set  out  for  another  jour- 
ney of  a thousand  miles  to  Dwaraca,  the  great  temple 
at  the  extreme  west  of  India. 

The  Hindus  believe  that  the  temple  here  was  raised 
by  a miracle  in  a single  night.  It  is  sacred  to  the  god 
Krishna,  the  story  of  whose  impure  and  vicious  deeds 
is  not  fit  to  be  read.  But  millions  of  pilgrims  visit 
this  temple,  for  it  is  written  of  it,  “ Whoever  visits 
that  holy  shrine,  the  place  where  Krishna  pursued  his 
sports,  is  liberated  from  all  sin.”  Here  Chundra  Lela 
spent  fifteen  days,  painting  her  body  with  sandalwood, 
worshiping  the  idol,  and  giving  lavish  gifts  to  the 
priests  and  holy  men. 

The  next  stage  of  her  journey  was  perhaps  the 
hardest  of  all,  for  the  fourth  great  temple  is  on  Mount 
Badrinath,  one  of  the  great  mountains  of  the  Himalaya 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


3i 


range.  The  temple  is  10,400  feet  above  sea-level,  and 
before  the  feet  of  the  pilgrims  have  gone  far  up  the 
mountain  path  they  are  numb  with  cold  and  cut  by 
jagged  ice.  Chundra  Lela  and  her  companions 
wrapped  their  bleeding  feet  in  layer  after  layer  of  cloth, 
and  went  on  determinedly,  though  they  were  soon 
suffering  intensely  with  the  cold.  The  last  part  of  the 
way  lies  along  so  steep  and  dangerous  a path  that  the 
climb  was  made  only  by  clinging  to  rocks  and  ice,  and 
these  weary  pilgrims  seemed  almost  more  dead  than 
alive  when  at  last  they  reached  the  temple.  But  their 
hearts  were  hopeful,  for  this  was  the  end  of  their 
pilgrimage,  and  surely  they  would  now  receive  the 
promised  assurance  of  forgiveness,  surely  they  would 
find  the  God  for  whom  they  had  so  long  and  so  ear- 
nestly sought ! Three  days  they  stayed  in  the  intense 
cold,  and  then  began  the  hard  journey  down  the  moun- 
tain. Chundra  Lela’s  heart  was  very  heavy,  for  the 
four  shrines  had  all  been  visited,  and  the  peace  and 
sense  of  fellowship  with  God,  to  gain  which  she  had 
left  her  home  seven  years  before,  had  not  come. 

But  she  refused  to  give  up.  Weary  and  exhausted 
though  she  was  she  climbed  Mount  Kedarnath,  another 
mountain  of  the  Himalayas,  on  which  there  is  a noted 
temple,  and  sprinkled  the  idol  with  water  from  the 
sacred  Ganges  river,  which  she  had  brought  with  her. 
She  bathed  in  the  Ganges  where  it  comes  out  from 
the  mountainside  at  Hardwar,  and  again  at  Allahabad, 
where  it  joins  another  sacred  river,  the  Jumna.  She 
cast  her  gift  of  flowers  upon  it  at  Benares,  and  made 


32  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

offerings  at  the  many  shrines  in  that  sacred  city,  and 
gave  generous  gifts  to  the  priests  at  Ranigung,  the  place 
celebrated  as  the  birthplace  of  the  god  Ram.  On  her 
way  to  Ranigung  one  of  her  companions  developed  a 
fever,  and  in  spite  of  all  that  was  done  for  her  died 
within  three  days.  At  Ranigung  the  other  was  smitten 
with  cholera  and  died.  Then  Chundra  Lela’s  heart 
was  heavy  indeed.  She  says: 

“ I had  visited  the  four  great  places  sacred  to  the 
Hindus,  a great  many  of  the  smaller  places,  and  had 
expended  much  money,  but  all  in  vain.  I had  received 
no  manifestation  nor  any  evidence  that  the  Supreme 
Being,  or  any  lesser  god,  was  pleased  with  my  worship. 
My  two  faithful  friends  were  gone,  and  I was  alone 
in  the  world.  ...  In  my  distress  I knew  not  what 
to  do.” 

While  she  was  wondering  where  to  go  next,  she 
met  a company  of  pilgrims  on  their  way  to  the  tem- 
ple of  Juggernaut.  Being  alone  and  having  no  plan, 
she  decided  to  go  with  them,  although  they  warned 
her  that  their  path  lay  through  a thick  forest,  and  they 
must  experience  much  suffering  before  arriving  at 
their  destination.  Chundra  Lela,  however,  decided  to 
cast  in  her  lot  with  theirs.  Now  that  her  two  com- 
panions were  gone,  she  did  her  own  cooking  and  car- 
ried her  water  for  the  first  time  in  her  life.  The  com- 
pany of  pilgrims  received  many  gifts  of  food  from 
the  people  of  the  villages  through  which  they  passed, 
but  Chundra  Lela  was  too  independent  to  accept  any 
of  these  gifts,  although  she  had  made  so  many  offer- 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


33 


ings  before  the  idols  and  to  the  priests  and  had  sup- 
ported herself  and  her  companions  for  so  many  years 
that  her  supply  of  gold  pieces  was  almost  gone.  One 
day,  when  the  company  of  pilgrims  was  resting  not 
far  from  Midnapur,  the  king,  whose  palace  was  near, 
sent  his  servants  with  gifts  of  food  for  them.  Chun- 
dra  Lela  declined  these  gifts,  to  the  astonishment  of 
the  servant,  who  told  the  king  on  his  return  that  all  had 
accepted  the  rice  and  ghee  (melted  butter),  except  one 
woman  who  sat  reading  her  sacred  books.  The  king 
was  interested  in  this  account  of  a woman  who  could 
read  the  sacred  books,  and  sent  for  her  to  come  to 
his  palace.  Chundra  Lela  accepted  this  invitation, 
and  was  graciously  received  by  the  queen  and  her 
maids  of  honor.  When  they  asked  her  where  she 
had  come  from  and  why  she  had  declined  to  eat  the 
food  the  king  had  sent,  she  answered: 

“ My  home  is  in  Nepal,  and  my  father  was  the 
family  priest  to  the  king  of  Nepal.  I pay  my  own  way 
and  buy  my  own  food.”  When  they  asked  why  she 
had  come  so  far  from  her  home,  she  told  them : 

“ I am  trying  to  find  God,  and  deliverance  from 
sin.” 

The  king  and  queen  begged  her  to  remain  with  them 
as  their  priestess,  and  she  consented  to  do  so,  giving 
her  time  for  the  next  few  years  to  teaching  Sanskrit 
to  the  women  of  the  palace  and  reading  the  sacred 
books  to  them.  The  king  built  a house  for  her,  gave 
her  servants  of  her  own,  and  showered  every  kind- 
ness upon  her.  But  she  was  restless,  for  she  had  not 


34 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


yet  satisfied  the  longing  of  her  heart,  and  after  a few 
years  of  quiet  she  set  out  on  her  journeying  again. 
Not  long  after  she  had  left  the  palace  she  met  a woman 
who  was  an  ascetic  or  fakir,  who  offered  to  teach  her 
how  to  torture  herself  in  such  ways  as  to  please  the 
gods. 

" I thought  in  my  mind,”  says  Chundra  Lela,  “ that 
if  there  was  any  virtue  in  these  rites,  surely  I would 
find  God.” 

The  story  of  the  tortures  she  inflicted  upon  herself 
during  the  next  years  would  be  hard  to  believe  if  there 
were  not  many  such  stories  of  devout  men  and 
women  of  India  who  have  sought  by  the  most  terrible 
bodily  suffering  to  win  the  favor  of  the  gods.  A mis- 
sionary tells  of  one  place  in  which  many  of  these 
fakirs  were  gathered  together. 

“ Each  selected  his  own  mode  of  penance,  or  self- 
torture,”  she  writes.  “ Some  were  lying  on  beds  of 
spikes;  others  buried  in  the  sand;  still  others  lying 
over  smoking  wood;  some  had  held  their  arms  in  an 
upright  position  until  the  flesh  had  withered  and  dried 
on  the  bone,  and  the  unkempt  finger-nails  had  grown 
several  inches  in  length,  piercing  through  the  flesh  and 
winding  about  the  shriveled  and  distorted  hand.” 

Chundra  Lela  vowed  that  all  during  the  six  most 
scorchingly  hot  months  of  India’s  hot  year,  she  would 
sit  all  day  and  every  day  in  the  burning  sun,  with  five 
fires  built  close  around  her.  From  midnight  until 
daylight  each  night  she  stood  in  front  of  an  idol, 
standing  on  one  foot,  with  the  other  drawn  up  against 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


35 


it,  imploring  the  god  to  reveal  himself  to  her.  In  the 
cooler  months,  instead  of  this,  she  spent  the  night 
sitting  in  a pond  of  water,  up  to  her  neck,  counting 
over  her  sacred  beads.  Years  afterward  she  told  a 
friend : 

“ Nobody  knows  how  long  those  nights  were,  nor 
how  I suffered  before  morning.  The  string  contained 
one  hundred  and  eight  beads.  With  each  bead  I called 
on  the  name  of  a god;  with  the  other  hand  I kept 
account  of  the  number  of  times  I had  gone  around  the 
string.  . . . In  a night  I would  go  round  the  string 
one  thousand  times,  repeating  the  name  of  the  gods  one 
hundred  and  eight  thousand  times.  I would  look 
toward  the  East  for  the  first  ray  of  light,  and  wonder 
if  the  night  would  ever  end.  When  day  broke  I would 
crawl  out  of  the  water  as  best  I could  with  my  be- 
numbed limbs,  and  prostrating  my  body  on  the 
ground,  would  then  measure  my  length  to  the  spot 
where  I was  to  sit  all  day,  worshiping  idols.  . . . 

Thus  I called  upon  Ram  day  and  night,  with  no  re- 
sponse. All  this  I endured  just  to  find  God.” 

As  she  worshiped  she  says  she  used  to  plead  with 
the  idol,  “ If  thou  art  God,  reveal  thyself  to  me ! 
Reach  forth  and  take  the  offering  I bring.  Let  me 
see,  hear,  or  feel  something  by  which  I may  know  I 
have  pleased  thee,  and  that  my  great  sin  is  pardoned, 
and  I am  accepted  by  thee ! ” But  no  sense  of  peace 
came,  and  at  the  end  of  three  years  of  this  self-inflicted 
suffering  she  felt  that  she  had  done  all  that  she  possibly 
could. 


36 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


“ I have  done  and  suffered  all  that  could  be  re- 
quired of  mortal,  by  god  or  man,  and  yet  without 
avail/’  she  declared. 

She  returned  to  Midnapur,  and  for  a time  sup- 
ported herself  by  teaching  the  sacred  books  to  the 
women  of  several  prominent  families  there.  She  her- 
self, however,  had  now  lost  all  faith  in  Hinduism, 
and  one  day  gathered  up  her  idols  and  gave  them  to  a 
woman  of  low  caste,  saying: 

“ You  may  worship  these  if  you  like;  I have  done 
them  homage  many  long  weary  years — all  in  vain.  I 
will  never  worship  them  again!  There  is  nothing  in 
Hinduism  or  I would  have  found  it.” 

One  day  when  she  went  to  visit  a friend  she  found 
her  reading  some  Christian  books.  This  was  the  first 
time  that  Chundra  Lela  had  seen  any  Christian  litera- 
ture, and  when  she  learned  that  an  American  teacher 
had  given  her  friend  the  books  she  asked  if  she  might 
come  and  meet  the  teacher  at  the  lesson  time  the  fol- 
lowing day.  The  American  teacher,  who  was  Miss 
Julia  Phillips  of  the  American  Free  Baptist  Mission, 
was  unable  to  come  the  next  day,  but  the  Bible  woman 
who  came  in  her  place  was  so  much  impressed  by 
Chundra  Lela  that,  when  she  went  back  to  the  mis- 
sion and  told  about  her,  Miss  Phillips  decided  to  go 
to  see  her  at  once.  From  Miss  Phillips,  Chundra  Lela 
heard  the  Christian  story  for  the  first  time,  and  from 
her  she  received  the  first  Bible  she  had  ever  seen. 
Day  and  night  Chundra  Lela  studied  this  Bible,  and 
when  her  pupils  came  to  her  to  hear  her  read  the  books 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA  37 

of  Hinduism,  she  read  to  them  from  the  Bible  in- 
stead. 

“ This  new  book  is  a good  book,”  she  told  them, 
and  they  agreed  with  her,  but  their  husbands  be- 
came alarmed  and  threatened  Chundra  Lela. 

“ If  you  become  a Christian,”  they  told  her,  “ we 
will  all  turn  you  out,  and  people  will  call  you  mad  and 
beat  and  stone  you ! ” But  Chundra  Lela  refused  to 
be  intimidated. 

“ I am  not  afraid,”  she  answered.  “ You  people 
cannot  hold  me,  and  need  not  try.  You  yourselves 
ought  to  become  Christians.”  And  then  she  would 
begin  to  explain  the  gospel  story. 

After  she  had  been  studying  her  Bible  for  about 
two  months,  she  went  to  the  missionaries  and  told 
them  that  she  wanted  to  take  her  stand  as  a Chris- 
tian. Dr.  J.  L.  Phillips  asked  her : “ You  say  you  have 
worshiped  all  these  idols;  have  you  got  pardon  for 
your  sin  ? ” 

“ I have  worshiped  every  idol  I know,”  Chundra 
Lela  answered.  “ I have  gone  on  all  pilgrimages  and 
done  all  the  Hindu  religion  has  taught;  but  I know 
nothing  about  pardon,  and  have  had  no  peace.” 

“ Cannot  your  idols  forgive  sins  ? ” Dr.  Phillips 
asked  again.  “ If  not,  how  will  you  get  pardon?  ” 

“ I have  now  read  about  Jesus,”  Chundra  Lela  told 
him  joyously,  “ and  learn  that  he  is  the  Savior  and 
can  save  and  pardon  me.  Believing  this,  I wish  to  be- 
come a Christian.” 

The  next  day  Chundra  Lela  attended  a Christian 


38 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


church  service  for  the  first  time,  and  heard  her  first 
sermon  from  the  lips  of  Dr.  Phillips. 

“ Oh,  what  a sermon ! ” she  exclaimed.  “ While  I 
sat  listening  my  heart  was  stirred  within  me,  and  I felt 
that  I had  found  that  for  which  I had  long  sought.  I 
wished  to  leave  Hinduism  and  all  its  cruel  deceptions, 
and  come  out  at  once.” 

After  the  service  she  told  Dr.  Phillips  that  she 
wanted  to  be  baptized.  He  warned  her, 

“ When  you  become  a Christian  you  will  have 
great  sorrow.  All  will  forsake  you;  and  if  you  get 
no  rice  to  eat,  what  will  you  do  then  ? ” 

“ God  feeds  the  birds,”  Chundra  Lela  answered, 
“ will  he  not  feed  me?  He  who  made  the  mouth,  can 
he  not  put  food  into  it  ? God  will  take  care  of  me.  I 
am  not  afraid.” 

Very  soon  after  this  she  packed  up  all  her  belong- 
ings and  moved  to  the  home  of  the  native  pastor  of 
the  church.  The  news  that  she  had  gone  to  live  with 
the  Christians  spread  rapidly,  and  many  of  her  friends 
and  students  gathered  together  and  went  to  her,  seek- 
ing to  induce  her  to  come  back  to  them.  But  she  told 
them  that  she  could  be  a Hindu  teacher  no  longer,  for 
she  was  no  longer  a Hindu  but  a Christian.  As  proof 
positive  that  she  meant  what  she  said,  she  asked  the 
pastor’s  wife  to  bring  her  a cup  of  water,  and  drank 
the  water  before  them,  thus  publicly  breaking  caste  by 
drinking  from  a dish  which  a Christian’s  hand  had 
touched.  Then,  indeed,  her  friends  were  convinced, 
and  went  away,  regretfully  admitting  that  since  Chun- 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


39 


dra  Lela  had  broken  her  caste  she  could  be  nothing 
more  to  them. 

After  her  baptism  the  missionaries  gave  Chundra 
Lela  work  in  the  mission  schools  for  children,  and 
suggested  that  she  teach  the  women  in  the  zenanas  to 
read.  But  she  was  too  full  of  joy  in  the  wonderful 
good  news  she  had  learned  to  be  willing  to  give  her 
time  to  teaching  people  how  to  read.  At  length  she 
had  found  the  God  for  whom  she  had  sought  so  long; 
at  last  her  soul  was  at  peace,  and  she  felt  that  she 
must  tell  others  the  glorious  truths  she  had  learned. 
Whenever  she  had  a free  moment  she  took  her  Bible 
and  went  from  house  to  house,  often  telling  the  story 
tc  groups  in  the  streets  until  great  crowds  had  gath- 
ered to  hear  her.  She  would  scarcely  stop  to  eat  or  to 
rest  in  the  daytime,  waiting  until  night  to  cook  and 
eat  her  food.  So  the  missionaries  set  her  free  from 
her  other  work  and  let  her  give  her  entire  time  to 
publishing  abroad  what  great  things  the  Lord  had 
done  for  her. 

After  she  had  worked  in  and  around  Midnapur 
for  several  years,  Chundra  Lela  conceived  the  idea  of 
going  to  some  of  the  shrines  which  she  had  visited  as 
a Hindu,  to  share  her  joy  with  the  pilgrims  who  were 
seeking  God  as  she  had  sought  him;  and  once  again 
she  set  out  on  a pilgrimage  lasting  several  years. 
There  were  as  many  hardships  to  be  met  on  this  pil- 
grimage as  on  her  early  one,  perhaps  more,  for  she 
was-  getting  older  and  was  not  so  vigorous  as  she  had 
been;  she  no  longer  had  a bag  of  gold  pieces  around 


40 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


her  waist,  but  often  suffered  from  lack  of  food;  and 
her  fearless  preaching  of  Christianity  often  brought 
persecutions  upon  her.  Once  she  was  beaten  by  an 
angry  priest;  a man  with  a sword  threatened  to 
kill  her;  the  Hindu  priests  hired  a mob  to  stone 
her;  and  once  she  was  brought  before  the  police  for 
preaching  Christianity.  But  in  spite  of  poverty,  ill- 
ness, and  persecution  this  pilgrimage  was  a shining 
way  for  Chundra  Lela.  No  longer  was  she  blindly  and 
fruitlessly  seeking  pardon  for  sin  and  fellowship  with 
God.  The  Great  Companion  was  always  with  her,  the 
sense  of  his  love  and  peace  were  ever  in  her  heart,  and 
no  difficulties  or  trials  were  worthy  to  be  compared 
with  the  joy  of  telling  about  him  to  those  who  were 
seeking  and  needing  him,  even  as  she  had  sought  and 
needed  him.  In  the  course  of  her  journeys  she  went 
to  her  own  country,  Nepal,  and  was  there  granted  the 
great  happiness  of  winning  her  brother  to  Christ. 

For  over  thirty  years  Chundra  Lela  went  to  and 
fro,  from  early  morning  until  late  in  the  evening, 
seeking  to  bring  to  her  hungry-hearted  Indian  people 
the  knowledge  of  a joyous  gospel  which  would  satisfy 
their  every  need.  She  went  to  all  classes  of  people. 
Mrs.  Lee,  a missionary  who  learned  to  know  her 
well,  says : ? 

“ One  day  she  would  be  found  sitting  at  the  feet  of 
a native  princess,  reading  the  Bible  to  her  and  the 
women  of  the  palace;  another  day  in  the  bazaar, 
preaching  to  the  throngs  that  come  and  go.  At  other 
times  we  have  seen  her  come  quietly  into  $ room  filled 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


4i 


with  educated  native  gentlemen,  and  seating  herself  in 
her  favorite  position  on  the  floor,  begin  to  talk  to 
them.  At  first  they  are  inclined  to  ridicule  her;  but 
she  goes  on,  until  soon  they  forget  she  is  a woman, 
and  are  astonished  at  her  knowledge  of  their  own 
sacred  books,  of  which  she  is  able  to  repeat,  from 
memory,  page  after  page.  Soon  they  feel  her  su- 
periority, and  one  after  another,  in  their  intense  inter- 
est, draw  nearer  and  take  their  seats  on  the  ground 
before  her.  She  will  hold  them  for  hours,  telling 
them  of  their  own  religion  and  its  emptiness.  She 
then  presents  Jesus  in  such  a way  that  it  seems  to  make 
them  want  to  know  him.” 

Mrs.  Lee  tells  of  one  occasion  on  which  Chundra 
Lela  was  preaching  to  a great  company  of  people, 
when  a missionary  who  was  in  the  crowd  said  to  the 
head  man: 

“ How  can  you  answer  such  truths  as  these?  ” 

“ Oh,”  the  man  answered,  “ these  women  know 
nothing ! Wait  till  you  hear  the  wisdom  of  our  priest.” 
He  went  away  and  soon  returned  with  the  priest,  who 
took  his  place  among  the  people  with  much  dignity. 
Chundra  Lela  looked  up  and  greeted  the  priest  pleas- 
antly, and  remarked  to  the  crowd, 

“ All  this  man  knows  I taught  him,  for  it  was  I 
who  taught  him  the  Vedas  (sacred  books),  and 
taught  him  to  repeat  prayers  to  the  gods,  and  to  per- 
form priestly  ceremonies.” 

When  she  was  about  sixty-five  years  old  and  was 
growing  feeble,  the  missionaries  of  the  mission,  of 


42 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


which  she  was  a member,  proposed  building  a house 
for  her. 

“What  do  you  think?  ” she  exclaimed  to  Mrs.  Lee. 
“ What  do  you  think?  The  4 Sihiab  logue  ’ (mission- 
ary gentlemen)  have  built  me  a house  to  die  in ! When 
they  first  mentioned  it  to  me  I said,  ‘ What ! a house  to 
die  in  ? Do  you  know  where  I am  to  die  ? It  might  be 
in  the  train,  or  on  the  river  steamer;  it  might  be  in  the 
distant  jungle,  or  perhaps  while  preaching  in  the  street. 
How  will  you  gentlemen  build  me  a house  to  die  in  ? ’ 
‘ Oh/  said  they,  ‘ it  is  true  we  do  not  know;  but  when 
you  are  ill,  as  you  were  a few  months  ago,  or  tired,  and 
wish  to  rest  awhile,  it  will  be  well  for  you  to  have  a 
house  of  your  own/  ‘ How  you  friends  do  trouble 
me!  What  would  I do  with  a house?  I wish  to  be 
free  from  care.  Then,  too,  it  would  cost  money  to 
keep  it  up/  ‘ Very  well ; but  we  will  give  you  a pension 
of  a small  amount  monthly,  and  from  this  you  could 
keep  it  in  repair/  And  I yielded.” 

“ One  day  after  the  Conference  was  over  and  we 
were  back  in  Midnapur,”  she  went  on  to  Mrs.  Lee, 
“ the  missionaries  said  to  me,  ‘ Come  and  see  the  spot 
we  have  selected  for  your  house — under  these  mango 
trees,  where  you  will  be  nice  and  quiet/  ‘ What ! ’ I 
said,  ‘away  off  in  this  field?  Oh,  no!  If  you  will 
build  me  a house,  build  it  on  the  roadside — close  up — 
so  that  when  I am  too  old  and  weak  to  walk,  I may 
crawl  up  to  the  door  and  preach  to  the  people  as  they 
pass  by/  ” 

So  the  missionaries  did  as  she  asked  and  built  her 


A PILGRIM  OF  INDIA 


43 


“ a house  by  the  side  of  the  road,  where  the  races  of 
men  go  by.” 

“ And  now  I can  preach  as  long  as  I live ! ” she 
exclaimed  joyously. 

And  as  long  as  she  lived,  she  did  preach.  As  she 
grew  more  feeble  it  seemed  sometimes  that  she  was 
almost  too  weak  to  speak.  But  if  there  was  an  oppor- 
tunity to  tell  of  the  Pearl  of  Great  Price  for  which  she 
had  sought  so  earnestly,  and  for  the  sake  of  which, 
when  she  found  it,  she  had  gladly  given  up  all,  the 
joy  of  the  Lord  would  prove  her  strength  and  the  old 
light  would  come  flooding  back  into  her  face,  and  her 
voice  would  become  strong  and  clear.  And  when  the 
door  into  the  Other  Room  opened,  and  she  was  sum- 
moned to  enter  into  the  joy  of  her  Lord,  she  went  with 
a shining  face. 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


I ■will  never 
these  hills. 


quit  until  I see  education  spread  all  through 

— J.  A.  Burns. 


J.  A.  BURNS 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


In  the  Cumberland  Mountains  of  Kentucky  live  more 
than  a half  million  Americans  of  whom  most  of 
las  know  very  little.  A little  over  two  hundred  years 
ago  their  ancestors  were  roaming  the  highlands  of 
Scotland;  later  their  great-great-grandfathers  took  up 
their  muskets  in  the  struggle  for  the  freedom  of  the 
colonies ; and  fifty  years  ago  one  hundred  and  twenty 
thousand  of  them  left  their  mountain  cabins  to  fight 
for  the  unity  of  their  young  country.  The  people  who 
know  them  say  that  they  are  worth  knowing;  that 
they  are  most  loyal  citizens,  vigorous  in  body  and 
mind,  friendly  and  fearless  in  spirit,  unfalteringly 
true  to  their  ideals  of  honor,  and  given  to  the  most 
kindly  and  gracious  hospitality. 

Yet  these  Highlanders  of  America  are  slaves,  made 
so  not  by  the  power  of  men  but  by  the  power  of 
illiteracy.  All  around  them  America  has  been  grow- 
ing into  a land  more  wonderful  than  the  brightest 
dreams  of  the  first  settlers.  But  if  Daniel  Boone 
could  take  another  trip  through  the  Cumberland  Moun- 
tains of  Kentucky  he  would  see  no  startling  changes 
either  in  the  country  or  the  people.  He  would  travel  by 
the  waterways,  or  over  narrow  trails,  just  as  he  used  to 
do,  for  there  still  are  no  roads.  The  little  log  cabins 
in  whose  one  or  two  narrow  rooms  from  ten  to  twenty 


45 


46 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


people  are  crowded  would  look  very  familiar  to  him. 

“ The  loom,  the  spinning-wheel,  the  lard-kettle,  the 
candle-mold,  the  squirrel  rifle/’  which  are  in  those 
cabins  now,  are  just  like  those  of  a hundred  years  ago; 
and  just  as  in  those  days  the  women  stand  behind  the  * 
tables  while  their  sinewy  husbands  and  sons  eat;  and 
ride,  sunbonneted,  behind  them  on  horseback  to  the 
little  log  churches. 

One  difference  however,  Daniel  Boone  might  notice. 

In  his  day  not  a few  of  the  little  cabins  had  book- 
shelves on  which  stood  copies  of  ancient  masterpieces 
of  Greek  and  Roman  literature.  Some  of  the  books 
are  there  still,  but  in  homes  where  no  man,  woman,  or 
child  can  either  read  or  write.  It  has  been  hard  to 
make  a living  in  the  Cumberland  Mountains,  and  dur- 
ing this  last  marvelous  century,  teeming  with  inven- 
tions and  the  development  of  industries,  the  men  of  the 
mountains  have  spent  all  the  days  of  their  lives  la- 
boriously raising  their  scanty  crops  with  the  help  of 
the  implements  of  a hundred  years  ago.  The  women 
meanwhile  have  been  growing  old  at  the  hard  work  of 
making  by  hand  every  article  of  clothing  and  food 
and  household  furnishing  which  has  been  needed. 

In  this  country  and  among  these  people  lives 
J.  A.  Burns.  His  father  was  a Primitive  Bap- 
tist minister,  who  rode  through  the  country  preach- 
ing in  the  little  log  churches  on  Saturdays  and 
Sundays,  and  worked  on  his  hillside  farm  during  the 
rest  of  the  week.  In  order  to  live  father  and  mother 
and  children  all  worked  incessantly.  Every  morning 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


47 


before  it  was  dawn  Burns  was  up  and  out  in  the  smoke- 
house, grinding  corn  or  wheat  for  breakfast  in  the  little 
hand-mill.  “ This  hand-mill,”  he  says,  “ was  made  of 
two  round  stones,  the  top  one  working  on  a little 
wooden  spindle  which  stuck  up  through  the  bottom 
one.  You  poured  the  wheat  in  a hole  at  the  middle  of 
the  upper  stone.  The  flour  came  out  through  a little 
outlet  at  the  edges  between  the  stones.  There  was  a 
hickory  handle  which  was  fitted  into  the  top  stone, 
the  upper  end  of  the  handle  working  in  a supporting 
frame.  This  made  the  stone  turn  more  easily.  Two 
persons  could  turn  it.  It  was  done  after  the  fashion  of 
Palestine.  It  was  the  best  mill  we  had.  In  perhaps 
fifteen  minutes  I would  have  flour  or  meal  enough 
ground  for  breakfast.  It  was  sweet  flour.  If  we 
wanted  to  remove  some  of  the  grits  or  husks  we  would 
take  a circular  hoop  made  out  of  basswood  bark  and 
covered  with  a piece  of  muslin,  and  screen  the  flour 
through  this.” 

After  breakfast  was  over  the  boy  took  his  hoe  and 
went  out  to  the  steep  hillside  to  try  to  raise  more  corn. 
Sometimes  he  went  to  the  little  wheat-field  to  reap, 
the  best  instrument  for  reaping  which  he  knew  about 
being  a long  sickle  or  “ reap  hook,”  which  left  many 
a scar  on  the  fingers  of  his  left  hand.  He  remembers 
that  when  he  first  saw  a reaping  “ cradle  ” he  thought 
that  it  certainly  was  the  best  and  easiest  method  of 
harvesting  wheat  which  could  possibly  be  invented. 
A reaping-machine  would  have  seemed  to  him  then 
nothing  short  of  a miracle.  When  he  and  his  brothers 


43 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


had  cut  down  the  wheat,  they  brought  their  little  bun- 
dles to  the  threshing-floor,  and  threshed  them  with 
flails  made  of  a piece  of  hickory,  one  short  section  of 
which  had  been  hammered  and  twisted  until  the  fibers 
were  loosened  into  a “ hinge.”  After  the  wheat  was 
threshed  it  had  to  be  winnowed,  very  much  as  it  used  to 
be  in  Palestine  when  the  grain  and  the  chaff  were 
tossed  up  letting  the  wind  blow  the  chaff  to  one  side. 
Burns  had  a share  in  every  process  which  the  wheat 
went  through  until  it  was  ready  to  be  put  into  the 
oven,  and  until  he  was  sixteen  years  old  he  never  tasted 
bread  made  with  any  other  flour  than  the  kind  he 
ground  in  his  little  hand-mill. 

When  Burns  was  thirteen  years  old,  his  father 
was  preaching  in  West  Virginia  in  a county  which 
boasted  a little  school,  and  there  the  boy  went  for  just 
three  months.  The  next  year  he  had  three  months 
more  in  school,  and  the  year  following  four  months. 
After  that  he  worked  for  an  older  brother  for  some 
time;  then  supported  himself  in  any  way  he  could, 
farming  a little,  sometimes  working  for  small  wages, 
sometimes  taking  rafts  of  logs  down  the  Kentucky 
river — doing  whatever  offered  for  a living.  He  grew 
tall  and  big-boned  like  most  of  the  mountain  men,  and 
unusually  powerful. 

The  French-Eversole  feud  was  raging  in  his  early 
manhood,  and  Burns  was  in  it.  And  one  night  in  the 
course  of  that  feud  something  happened  which  changed 
the  current  of  life  not  only  for  Burns,  but  for  a multi- 
tude of  mountain  boys  like  him.  The  enemy  were 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


49 


barricaded  in  a log  cabin  which  Burns  and  his  fellow 
combatants  were  determined  to  take.  In  the  course 
of  the  struggle  Burns  received  a terrific  blow  on 
the  head  from  a rifle  barrel,  and  being  thought  dead 
was  dragged  by  his  feet  from  the  dooryard  and  thrown 
over  a fence  where  he  would  be  out  of  the  way  of  the 
fighting.  But  Burns  was  not  dead.  Long  after  the 
fighting  was  over  he  crawled  down  to  a near-by  cabin 
for  food.  As  his  strength  came  back,  however,  he  did 
not  hurry  to  join  his  fellow  feudists.  A blow  on  the 
head  could  not  frighten  him  but  it  could  sober  him,  and 
he  turned  his  face  away  from  the  settlement  to  the 
lonely  mountains. 

For  four  days  he  was  alone  in  the  mountains,  and 
when  he  came  out  it  was  with  the  determination  to  go 
to  college!  Alone  in  the  stillness  of  the  forests  he 
had  been  asking  why  God  had  brought  him  back  from 
the  dead.  There  must  be  some  purpose  in  what  had 
befallen  him.  In  the  quiet  days  away  from  the  rest  of 
the  world  he  saw  his  people  as  he  had  never  seen  them 
before.  He  could  say  of  them  then  as  now,  “ They 
are  the  finest,  bravest,  fairest-minded  people  in  the 
world,”  but  seeing  them  so,  he  saw  as  never  before  the 
pity  of  their  ignorance,  with  all  its  attendant  evils  of 
poverty  and  narrowness  and  enmity.  He  believed  that 
God  had  given  him  back  his  life  that  he  might  serve 
this  people,  and  he  was  sure  that  what  they  needed 
most  was  an  opportunity  for  Christian  education. 
This  he  determined  to  help  them  to  get.  He  had  no 
money,  and  he  had  had  but  ten  months  in  school  him- 


50 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


self,  but  he  went  out  from  the  mountains  to  prepare 
himself  to  teach. 

For  seven  months  Burns  managed  to  support  him- 
self at  the  preparatory  school  of  Denison  University, 
in  Granville,  Ohio.  Then  he  went  back  to  his  moun- 
tains, as  penniless  as  when  he  had  come,  but  with  seven 
more  months  of  school  life  added  to  the  ten  which  he 
had  had  in  West  Virginia.  The  next  year  he  taught 
a hundred  eager  little  mountain  boys  and  girls  at 
“ Raider’s  Creek,”  and  in  the  six  years  that  followed 
started  schools  in  various  other  parts  of  the  moun- 
tains. One  year  he  taught  at  Berea  College,  Berea, 
Kentucky.  Always  the  children  flocked  to  him, 
hungry  for  the  chance  to  study,  and  always  his  own 
education  was  growing  both  deeper  and  broader.  And 
always  in  his  heart  he  carried  a vision — of  which  he 
almost  never  spoke — a vision  of  a time  when  in  the 
heart  of  the  wild,  feud-fraught  mountains  there  should 
be,  not  just  little  log-cabin  country  schools  open  for 
a few  months  a year,  but  a strong,  splendid,  permanent 
college ! He  had  no  money  for  a college,  and  no  idea 
where  to  get  it.  But  in  1899  he  decided  that  the  time 
had  come  to  take  the  first  step. 

It  was  a troublous  time  in  which  to  start  a college. 
The  Baker-Howard  feud  was  on,  and  there  had  been 
much  bloodshed.  But  Burns  wanted  to  talk  to  the  men 
of  both  sides  about  a college  for  their  boys,  so  he 
called  a meeting,  himself  a sort  of  hostage  and  pledge 
of  good  faith.  About  fifty  men  filed  silently  into  the 
old  mill  that  day,  half  of  them  on  the  Baker  side,  half 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


51 


on  the  Howard.  “ It  was  a mighty  quiet  meeting,” 
Burns  says.  In  absolute  stillness  they  seated  them- 
selves on  opposite  sides  of  the  room,  every  man  with 
his  gun  on  his  arm,  every  one  perfectly  quiet  but  alert. 
Then  Burns  stood  in  the  center  and  pleaded  with  them. 
He  told  them  that  they  were  rearing  their  sons  for 
slaughter,  and  begged  them  to  stop  fighting  and  help 
him  build  a college  where  the  boys  could  have  an 
education. 

“ I didn’t  know  what  they  were  going  to  do,”  he 
said  afterward,  “ but  I was  right  glad  when  Lee 
Combs  got  up,  and  when  Dan  Burns  got  up  too,  and 
they  met  in  front  of  me.  They  did  not  draw,  but  they 
shook  hands.  Then  I knew  that  the  college  was  going 
to  be  a success.” 

A few  days  later  twelve  of  these  men  came  together 
in  the  little  log  church,  and  there  six  of  them  signed 
their  names  and  six  put  their  marks  to  an  application 
for  a state  charter  which  would  permit  them  to  found 
a college  in  their  mountains. 

When  Burns  started  his  college  he  had  not  one  dol- 
lar. But  one  of  the  men  who  had  put  his  mark  to  the 
application  for  a charter  gave  him  fifty  dollars,  and 
some  one  else  gave  him  some  land,  and  he  went  to 
work.  A blacksmith  made  him  some  stone-working 
tools  out  of  a crowbar,  and  he  began  to  cut  the  founda- 
tion-stones out  of  the  mountain.  Alone  in  the  dawn 
one  morning  he  laid  the  first  stone  of  the  first  founda- 
tion of  Oneida  Institute. 

“ I set  it  as  firmly  as  I could,”  he  says,  “ in  the 


52 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


wish  that  it  might  stand  long;  and  then,  all  alone  on 
the  hillside,  I stretched  out  my  arms  and  offered  up  as 
good  a prayer  as  I knew  how.  About  then  a young 
feudist  came  riding  over  the  hill  beyond,  perhaps  from 
some  raid  in  which  he  had  been  engaged  the  night 
before.  It  was  sun-up,  and  he  saluted  the  rising  day 
with  a volley  of  pistol  shots;  still,  I presume,  full  of 
the  fury  of  combat.  I accepted  that  volley  of  shots  as 
a challenge  to  my  prayer.  Three  years  later  I baptized 
that  young  feudist,  and  he  rides  on  feuds  no  more.” 

Single-handed,  Burns  hewed  his  stones  and  laid  his 
foundations.  When  he  began  on  the  woodwork  several 
of  his  neighbors  joined  him,  and  work  went  on  all 
day  and  often  late  into  the  night.  If  Burns  went 
home  at  night,  he  had  to  walk  five  miles  over  the  hills, 
each  way;  so  usually  he  worked  until  ten  or  eleven  or 
midnight,  and  then  curled  up  in  the  soft  shavings 
under  his  carpenter’s  bench  for  the  rest  of  the  night. 

The  year  after  this  first  building,  a boys’  dormitory, 
was  finished,  Burns  went  to  Louisville,  Kentucky,  to 
a convention  of  Baptist  ministers.  He  was  asked  to 
speak  of  his  work,  and  those  who  heard  that  speech 
still  talk  of  it. 

“ J.  A.  Burns,”  says  Emerson  Hough,  “ is  an  orator 
of  unusual  power,  a cultured  and  educated  man  of 
singular  purity  of  speech.”  His  brother  ministers  were 
not  wealthy  men,  but  the  story  that  he  told  with  his 
“ natural  and  convincing  oratory,”  gripped  them,  and 
they  gave  him  four  hundred  dollars.  A family  in 
Louisville  added  five  thousand,  and  with  the  help  of 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


53 


the  building  materials  which  the  mountains  afforded 
and  the  labor  which  the  men  of  the  mountains  cheer- 
fully contributed  Burns  built  a ten  thousand  dollar  brick 
recitation  hall.  Two  years  after  this  building  was  fin- 
ished the  boys  were  crowding  to  the  school  in  such 
numbers  that  another  dormitory  was  an  urgent  neces- 
sity. Burns  had  no  money,  but  he  started  the  dormi- 
tory. The  neighbors  gave  what  money  they  could, 
their  labor,  and  their  keen  interest;  some  people  out- 
side the  mountains  helped,  and  a year  later  a sub- 
stantial brick  dormitory,  worth  ten  thousand  dollars, 
opened  its  doors. 

All  this  time  Burns  was  not  only  architect  and  con- 
tractor and  builder,  but  president  and  teacher  and 
student  as  well. 

“ You  see  that  big,  flat  rock  yonder?”  he  said  to 
Mr.  Hough,  as  they  stood  on  the  bank  of  the  Kentucky 
river.  “ Well,  that  is  the  best  fishing-place  on  the 
Kentucky  river.  It  is  lucky  for  me  that  it  was. 
When  I was  beginning  my  work  in  Latin  and  some  of 
the  mathematics,  my  boys  in  the  school  up  yonder 
on  the  hill  were  crowding  hard  on  my  heels  all  the 
time,  and  knew  about  as  much  as  I did.  I was  on  a 
keen  jump,  and  just  one  day  ahead  of  them.  Moreover, 
I hadn’t  anything  to  eat,  in  those  days.  My  friend 
and  fellow  teacher  and  myself  used  to  set  our  trawl- 
lines just  out  beyond  that  flat  rock.  Then  we  used  to 
study  our  next  day’s  lessons  in  Latin  and  geometry 
by  the  light  of  a fire.  ‘ God  bless  the  catfish ! ’ I 
have  said  ever  since.  If  it  had  not  been  that  we  had 

i 


54 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


been  favored  in  our  fishing,  I don’t  know  what  might 
have  happened  to  Oneida  college ! ” 

They  were  worth  every  effort,  these  boys  of  the 
Kentucky  Highlands.  The  chance  to  learn  was  like 
food  to  the  starving,  and  no  price  that  they  could  pay 
too  great,  no  struggle  too  long. 

“ One  boy  came  to  me,”  Burns  told  Mr.  Hough, 
“ limping  and  tired.  He  had  tuberculosis  of  the  hip. 
He  had  no  coat,  hardly  any  shoes,  almost  no  trou- 
sers, and  he  carried  a carpetbag  tied  together  with  a 
piece  of  twine.  His  hair  stuck  out  through  his  hat 
He  had  walked  twenty  or  thirty  miles.  He  said  he 
wanted  an  education.  . . . One  day  I heard  some  of 
my  scholars  whispering  together  out  in  the  halL 
Whispering  is  against  the  rules,  and  I went  out  to  dis- 
perse them.  There  seemed  to  be  some  conspiracy, 
and  I found  out  what  it  was;  those  poor  boys,  who 
had  earned  a few  cents  by  working  on  our  farm,  were 
taking  up  a collection,  five  cents,  ten  cents  each,  to  get 
the  ‘ new  boy  ’ a better  pair  of  pants ! I did  not  dis- 
miss that  meeting.” 

That  “ new  boy  ” is  soon  to  be  in  charge  of  educa- 
tional work  himself.  Nine  times  the  bad  hip  was 
operated  on,  and  the  ninth  time  it  was  cured. 

The  report  of  Oneida  college  spread  across  the 
Kentucky  river  into  the  Bullskin  Valley,  and  one  day 
“ old  man  Combs  ” put  two  of  his  daughters  on  the 
back  of  a mule,  took  a third  on  another  mule  with  him, 
and  rode  the  fifty  miles  to  the  river,  forded  it,  and 
drew  up  before  the  college  door.  Neither  he  nor  any 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


55 


one  of  the  daughters  could  read  or  write,  and  he  had 
brought  them  to  the  place  where  they  could  learn. 
Tears  streamed  down  the  faces  of  the  girls  and  stood 
in  the  eyes  of  Burns  of  the  Mountains  when  he  told 
them  that  there  was  no  room  in  which  they  could  sleep, 
no  food  for  them  to  eat,  and  no  money  with  which  to 
buy  these  things.  With  sad  face  the  old  man  turned 
the  mules’  heads  and  started  on  the  homeward  jour- 
ney. 

“ I watched  them  ford  the  river  again,  and  turn 
back  up  the  Bullskin  Valley,”  Burns  said.  “ My  heart 
bled  for  them.  I knew  what  they  were  going  back  to.” 

As  he  had  dreamed  of  a college  for  the  boys,  so 
now  Burns  began  to  dream  of  a dormitory  for  the 
girls,  which  would  make  it  possible  for  them  to  study 
with  their  brothers.  So  presently  he  gave  out  con- 
tracts for  the  building,  engaged  workmen,  and  went 
out  to  find  some  money.  He  went  to  Carrolton,  where 
the  White’s  Run  Baptist  Association  was  meeting,  and 
with  twenty  cents,  which  constituted  his  entire  capital, 
in  his  pocket,  told  his  friends  what  he  wanted  to  do. 
“ Then,”  he  says,  “ Mr.  Carnahan,  who  has  done  so 
much  for  this  college,  said  he  would  help  on  my  labor 
pay-roll;  and  we  borrowed  five  thousand  dollars  of  a 
building  and  loan  association  that  wasn’t  afraid  to 
lend  to  the  Lord.” 

This  dormitory  was  only  a beginning  of  good  things 
for  the  girls.  The  generous  gift  of  a woman  in  New 
York  who  heard  Burns  tell  of  the  ambitious,  respon- 
sive mountain  children,  has  made  possible  another  ten 


56 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


thousand  dollar  brick  building,  where  cooking,  sew- 
ing, sanitation,  and  other  household  subjects  are 
taught. 

No  boys  were  ever  more  eager  for  a chance  than 
these  girls  of  the  mountains.  Some  of  them  write  Mr. 
Burns  letters  like  this: 

“ Prof.  Burns 
oneda  Ky 

I though  i would  write  you  to  See  if  i could  enter 
School  with  you  all  one  a Free  tuishen  my  father 
is  ded  and  my  mother  is  to  Poor  to  send  me  to  School 
and  is  not  evan  able  to  Furnish  my  Books  and  Close 
and  Would  Like  to  help  make  Suport  fur  the  Familey 
and  the  way  i am  i Cant  my  ege  is  19  and  if  you  Cant 
hold  me  a Place  in  School  can  I get  a job  of  house 
work.  Can  work  at  most  anything  in  the  house. 

i have  a hard  way  of  Living  and  making  my 
Suport  i live  in  the  Country  and  cant  get  anything  fur 
my  work,  now  you  let  me  Just  what  you  will  do  and 
Let  me  no  what  you  will  Pay  a week  for  cooking  if  i 
cant  get  in  School. 

if  i had  Lurning  i could  make  my  mother  Suport 
But  as  i am  i cant 

will  close  hoping  to  here  frome  you  Soon 

your  reSPCtful 

P.S.  Let  me  no  if  i can  get  in  or  i cant.” 

When  these  girls  have  had  a chance  to  “ have  lurn- 
ing,” they  write  papers  which  read,  in  part,  like  this : 

“ It  is  not  an  uncommon  thing  to  find,  anywhere  in 
these  mountains,  families  of  ten  or  twelve  living  in 
one  or  two  small  rooms.  There  is  practically  no 


ALONE  IN  THE  MOUNTAINS 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


57 


ventilation,  the  food  is  only  half  cooked,  and  the 
natural  outcome  is  that  some  member  of  the  family  is 
nearly  always  sick.  To  those  who  know  the  impor- 
tance of  sanitation,  wholesome,  nutritious  food,  and 
pure  air,  it  is  not  strange  that  so  many  people  of  the 
mountains  are  dying  from  tuberculosis  and  other  con- 
tagious diseases.  Very  few  of  the  people  believe  that 
tuberculosis  is  contagious,  and  therefore  make  no  fight 
against  it.  The  same  holds  with  other  preventable  and 
curable  diseases  from  which  thousands  are  dying  each 
year. 

“ Only  for  the  past  few  years  have  we  been  alive  to 
the  fact  that  in  order  to  make  the  mountain  home  what 
it  should  be,  the  girls  must  be  educated.  Since  this 
is  true,  then,  do  not  let  us  neglect  the  most  important 
part  of  our  training,  training  for  that  vocation  for 
which  every  girl  should  prepare  herself,  the  most 
sacred  position  any  girl  can  hold,  that  of  home- 
maker. 

“ The  rise  or  fall  of  the  future  generation  of  moun- 
taineers rests  with  the  girls  and  boys  of  the  present 
day,  and,  I should  say,  the  greater  responsibility  rests 
with  the  girls.  The  woman  has  the  training  of  the 
children,  and  by  surrounding  them  in  the  home  with 
those  things  which  tend  to  best  development,  phys- 
ically, mentally,  and  morally,  she  will  be  laying  the 
foundation  on  which  the  success  of  their  lives  and  the 
greatness  of  the  nation  depend.” 

It  does  not  take  a great  amount  of  money  to  get 
“ lurning  ” at  Oneida  Institute, — only  four  dollars  a 


58 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


month  for  room,  board,  and  tuition.  Very  little  money 
is  paid  out  for  food  or  servant  hire.  The  boys  culti- 
vate the  fields,  and  raise  nearly  all  the  food  which  the 
five  hundred  and  twenty-four  students  eat,  and  in  the 
doing  of  it  learn  modern  scientific  methods  of  agricul- 
ture which  will  help  them  to  win  such  crops  from  their 
mountain  soil  as  it  has  never  before  yielded.  The 
girls  not  only  study  the  theory  of  home-keeping,  but  by 
practical  experience  they  learn  how  to  care  for  their 
dormitory  rooms,  how  to  dress  suitably,  how  to  cook 
and  serve  wholesome  food.  Last  summer  they  put  up 
six  hundred  gallons  of  fruit  and  wild  blackberries  for 
use  on  the  school  table. 

“ The  breed  of  Lincoln  is  not  gone!’'  Emerson 
Hough  declared,  after  he  had  met  Burns  of  the  Moun- 
tains. Burns  too  is  an  emancipator,  he  too  is  setting 
a people  free — free  from  the  bondage  in  which  igno- 
rance has  held  them.  And  they  are  a people  worthy 
of  their  freedom. 

Of  them  Burns  says : “ If  these  people  were  what  the 
outside  world  has  so  long  supposed  them  to  be — savage, 
selfish,  lawless,  broilers,  feudists,  murderers — I would 
not  try  to  help  them,  nor  wish  to  do  so.  But  they  are 
not  that.  They  are  a simple,  bold,  honorable,  gen- 
erous, and  able  people,  a splendid  stock;  and  they 
must  not  be  allowed  to  go  on  as  they  have — they  are 
too  good  for  that.”  “ We  want  our  place  in  the  ranks 
of  the  useful  citizenship  of  America,”  he  cries.  “ We 
are  not  content  either  to  stand  still  or  to  slip  back  as 
we  have  been  doing.  We  want  out  and  we  want  up! 


A MAN  OF  THE  MOUNTAINS 


59 


However  much  the  country  helps  us,  we  will  pay  it 
back  again.” 

Pledge  and  prophecy  of  what  his  mountaineers  can 
be  is  Burns  himself,  “ a college  president  with  only 
seventeen  months  of  school,”  who  has  built  “ a hun- 
dred thousand  dollar  college  with  no  better  start  than 
twenty  cents.”  “ J.  A.  Burns,”  says  Emerson  Hough, 
“ will  live  and  die  in  that  valley,  not  much  heralded, 
not  much  known,  but  his  part  of  the  country  and  ours 
will  have  been  the  better  for  his  life  and  his  vision. 
Such  men  give  us  a better  hope  of  the  future  of  Amer- 
ica. I felt  the  strength  of  America  itself  back  of 
this  simple  mountaineer  when  I talked  with  him.” 

“ Some  of  you  remember  me  when  I came  here,  and 
you  know  me  now,”  one  of  the  Oneida  girls  said  when 
she  graduated.  “ If  I am  anything,  if  I ever  shall  be 
anything,  I gratefully  acknowledge  it  to  be  the  work 
of  this  institution  and  especially  of  Professor  Burns. 
Often  the  one  thought  that  some  day  I may,  in  some 
way,  be  able  to  show  my  appreciation  for  what  he  has 
done  for  me,  that  I may,  perhaps,  please  him,  as  a 
slight  return  for  his  influence,  has  forced  me  on  when 
nothing  else  could.” 

And  Mr.  Hough  writes,  " There  was  something  I 
wanted  to  say  to  him  and  never  did  say — I wanted  to 
tell  him  how  ashamed  I was  bf  my  life,  which  had 
made  so  little  out  of  good  opportunity,  whereas  others 
have  made  so  much  out  of  none.” 

But  Burns  of  the  Mountains  thinks  not  at  all  of  what 
people  say  of  him — his  mind  is  too  full  of  the  vision 


6o 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


splendid  of  a new  and  radiant  day  for  the  children  of 
the  Cumberlands.  “ I never  will  quit,”  he  pledges, 
“ I never  will  be  done  until  I see  education  spread  all 
through  these  hills.  I ask  God  to  spare  me  till  that 
time  has  come.” 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


Be  so  busy  living  that  you  never  have  time  to  take  thought 
of  dying,  for  when  you  have  learned  how  to  live,  you  needn’t 
be  bothered  with  learning  how  to  die. 


— Kaji  Yajitna. 


KAJI  YAJIMA 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


Eighty-two  years  ago  a baby  girl  was  born  in  the 
home  of  one  of  the  “ town  supervisors  ” of  the  prefec- 
ture of  Kumamoto,  Japan.  Her  father  was  a man 
of  much  prominence  and  influence,  but  there  were 
many  poor  people  in  his  district  who  needed  to  learn 
how  to  earn  a living  and  to  make  the  most  of  the  little 
they  had ; and,  in  order  to  help  to  teach  them  how,  the 
town  supervisor  and  his  family  worked  as  hard  and 
lived  as  simply  as  they  did.  Just  as  soon  as  the  six 
little  girls  of  the  family  were  old  enough  they  learned 
to  help  their  mother  take  care  of  the  silkworms,  to  reel 
and  weave  the  silk,  and  later  to  cut  it  and  make  it  into 
kimonos.  All  day  long  they  were  busy  with  this  work 
and  household  tasks,  but  in  the  evening  they,  with 
their  brother,  gathered  about  their  mother,  who  taught 
them  to  make  the  difficult  characters  of  the  Japanese 
alphabet,  with  a soft  brush,  and  to  understand  what 
they  meant.  There  were  no  schools  for  girls  in  Japan 
in  those  days,  but  these  little  girls  never  missed  them, 
for,  after  they  had  learned  from  their  mother  how  to 
read  and  write,  their  father  taught  them  the  Confucian 
classics  and  the  ancient  literature  of  Japan. 

When  Kaji,  next  to  the  youngest  of  these  little  girls, 
was  about  twenty  years  old,  she  married.  The  hardest 

61 


62 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


years  of  her  life  followed,  for  her  husband  proved  to 
be  a drunkard,  and  in  spite  of  his  wife’s  influence  he 
never  succeeded  in  conquering  his  weakness.  For  sev- 
eral years  Mrs.  Yajima  did  her  utmost  to  help  her  hus- 
band and  make  a home,  but  at  last  she  was  released, 
and,  broken  in  health,  went  back  to  her  parents!  Her 
only  thought  at  this  time  was  to  spend  the  rest  of  her 
life  there  in  peace  and  quiet.  No  other  idea  ever  oc- 
curred to  her.  No  life  outside  the  home  was  open 
to  women  in  old  Japan,  and,  moreover,  even  the  men  of 
Japan  began  to  think  of  retiring  from  active  life  at 
forty  or  fifty,  and  Mrs.  Yajima  was  now  almost  forty 
years  of  age. 

But  great  changes  had  been  taking  place  in  the  little 
island  empire  during  the  years  of  Mrs.  Yajima’s  mar- 
ried life.  At  the  time  of  her  marriage  Japan  was  a 
medieval  nation  in  all  that  the  term  implies.  Condi- 
tions there  were  very  similar  to  those  in  the  Scotland 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  novels.  A feudal  clan  system 
prevailed,  the  country  being  divided  among  several 
great  military  nobles,  known  as  Daimios,  each  with 
fortified  castle  and  retinue  of  armed  retainers  of 
Samurai.  Nominally  the  country  was  ruled  by  the 
emperor,  but  in  reality  the  emperor  was  a helpless 
puppet,  the  actual  power  being  in  the  hands  of  the  most 
powerful  of  the  military  nobles,  who  was  known  as 
the  shogun. 

Japan  at  this  time  was  not  only  medieval : she  was 
also  a hermit  nation,  living  in  absolute  isolation  from 
all  the  rest  of  the  world.  She  had  not  always  been 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN  63 

thus  closed  to  all  outside  influences.  In  the  sixteenth 
century  she  had  been  open  to  trade  with  Europe,  and 
with  the  traders  had  come  Roman  Catholic  mission- 
aries who  were  very  successful  in  winning  converts. 
But  after  some  years  of  trade  with  Spain  and  Portugal 
Japan  began  to  suspect  that  these  nations  were  plan- 
ning to  overthrow  her,  and  that  the  missionary  priests 
were  their  agents.  In  1614,  the  shogun  believed  that 
he  had  discovered  a plot  to  undermine  his  power;  and 
he  at  once  issued  an  edict,  denouncing  all  missionaries 
as  enemies  of  the  gods  and  of  Japan,  and  ordering 
them,  and  all  Japanese  who  had  become  priests,  to  leave 
the  country  at  once.  He  also  ordered  all  native  Chris- 
tians to  recant,  on  pain  of  death.  In  the  years  that 
followed  thousands  upon  thousands  of  Japanese  Chris- 
tians suffered  unspeakable  tortures  rather  than  give 
up  their  faith.  They  were  crucified,  buried  alive, 
burned  at  the  stake,  torn  limb  from  limb,  and  hideously 
tortured,  rather  than  recant.  At  one  time  thirty-seven 
thousand  of  them  were  massacred  together.  Finally 
Christianity  seemed  almost  stamped  out,  but  as  late  as 
1873  placards  were  posted  in  various  public  places 
offering  generous  rewards  to  all  who  would  give  infor- 
mation against  those  who  were  suspected  of  being 
followers  of  the  foreign  faith.  The  shogun  also  is- 
sued most  stringent  edicts  banishing  all  foreigners  ex- 
cept the  Dutch  and  the  Chinese  from  the  country  on 
pain  of  death;  sternly  forbade  any  others  to  enter  at 
any  future  time;  and  with  equal  severity  forbade  any 


64 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


Japanese  to  leave  his  country,  enforcing  this  order  by 
destroying  all  sea-going  vessels. 

For  two  hundred  and  thirty  years  Japan  succeeded 
in  remaining  in  complete  and  unbroken  isolation.  In 
1850  she  was  the  same  Japan  which  in  1624  had 
locked  its  doors,  both  outside  and  in,  still  living  the 
life  of  the  Middle  Ages,  serenely  ignorant  of  and  in- 
different to  the  stirring  modern  life  of  the  European 
nations.  But  in  1853  there  came  an  interruption.  A 
representative  of  a nation  which  Japan  had  scarcely 
heard  of  sailed  across  the  Pacific  and  knocked  politely 
but  insistently  upon  her  inhospitable  door.  In  July 
of  that  year  an  American  squadron  anchored  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Gulf  of  Yedo,  and  its  commander,  Com- 
modore Perry,  succeeded  after  not  a little  difficulty  in 
delivering  to  the  authorities  the  letter  which  he  brought 
from  the  President  of  the  United  States,  urging  Japan 
to  enter  into  commercial  treaties  with  the  young  repub- 
lic across  the  seas.  During  the  decade  following  the 
delivery  of  this  letter  the  long-closed  door  of  Japan 
swung  gradually  open,  until  at  last  treaties  had  been 
made  opening  several  important  ports  to  trade  with 
the  United  States,  England,  France,  and  other  nations, 
and  also  permitting  members  of  these  nations  to  live 
within  these  ports.  The  year  1865,  when  all  these 
treaties  were  ratified  by  the  emperor,  marked  the  final 
ending  of  Japan’s  seclusion  and  medievalism  and  the 
beginning  of  a new  and  stirring  life. 

The  first  step  in  this  new  life  was  the  revolution 
which  took  place  in  1868  and  was  one  of  the  most 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


65 


remarkable  revolutions  the  world  has  ever  seen.  Many 
of  the  strongest  Daimios  united  together  against  the 
shogun,  compelled  him  to  resign,  seized  the  palace  at 
Kyoto  and  proceeded  to  administer  the  government  in 
the  name  of  the  emperor.  Civil  war  followed,  but  the 
adherents  of  the  emperor  soon  conquered;  the  shogun- 
ate  which  had  lasted  for  seven  hundred  years  was 
overthrown  and  in  a few  months  the  young  emperor 
was  everywhere  acknowledged  the  real  as  well  as  the 
nominal  ruler  of  the  nation. 

By  the  time  Mrs.  Yajima’s  married  life  was  ended, 
the  old  Japan  was  a thing  of  the  past.  The  young, 
energetic  emperor  set  himself  to  the  task  of  bringing 
his  nation  into  line  with  the  modern  world  as  quickly 
as  possible,  and  the  rapidity  with  which  he  succeeded 
seemed  almost  miraculous. 

Mrs.  Yajima’s  brother  was  in  the  employ  of  the 
progressive  new  government,  in  Tokyo,  and  it  was  to 
the  very  heart  of  the  stirring  new  life  that  his  illness 
called  her  in  1871.  Many  of  the  things  she  saw  in 
the  capital  interested  her  greatly,  but  none  more  than 
the  schools  for  boys  and  girls  which  were  being  estab- 
lished under  the  new  educational  system,  modeled  on 
that  of  Massachusetts.  Only  a few  years  before  there 
had  been  only  a few  schools  for  boys,  and  none  at  all 
for  girls,  but  now  the  government  proposed  to  estab- 
lish public  schools  for  both  boys  and  girls  all  over  the 
country  making  attendance  at  them  compulsory. 
The  greatest  difficulty  was  in  the  matter  of  teachers. 
Hundreds  were  needed,  but  how  could  people  who  had 


66 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


never  been  to  school  themselves  know  how  to  conduct  a 
school  ? The  government  was  trying  to  meet  this  diffi- 
culty, however,  by  a training  course  for  those  who 
wished  to  become  teachers  in  the  new  schools.  The 
first  class  was  just  about  to  begin  training  when  Mrs. 
Yajima’s  brother  was  well  enough  to  dispense  with  his 
sister’s  care,  and  he  strongly  urged  her  to  take  the 
course. 

This  was  a startling  idea  to  Mrs.  Yajima.  She  had 
thought  that  active  life  was  over  for  her,  and  at  first  it 
seemed  impossible  to  begin  a wholly  new  work  and  one 
which  no  Japanese  woman  had  ever  attempted  before. 
Moreover  she  had  no  confidence  in  her  own  ability  and 
doubted  whether  she  could  ever  learn  to  teach.  But 
the  work  attracted  her  greatly,  and  she  finally  yielded 
to  her  brother’s  advice  and  took  the  training,  being  a 
member  of  the  first  class  which  received  certificates 
from- the  “ Teachers’  Training  Association,”  which 
later  developed  into  the  government  normal  school. 

For  four  years  Mrs.  Yajima  taught  in  the  primary 
schools  of  Tokyo.  As  she  taught  she  became  increas- 
ingly convinced  of  the  truth  of  what  she  has  so  often 
said  since : “ Education  without  religion  is  only  partial 
preparation  for  life.”  She  came  gradually  to  feel,  too, 
that  the  religion  which  her  parents  had  taught  her  was 
not  the  one  which  afforded  the  best  preparation  for 
living.  She  had  read  of  the  prayer  which  Commodore 
Perry  had  made  upon  entering  Japan,  in  which  he 
spoke  of  the  people  who  had  given  him  none  too 
gracious  a welcome  as  his  brothers.  This  thought  of 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


67 


the  brotherhood  of  the  people  of  all  nations  im- 
pressed her  very  strangely  and  made  her  begin  to  feel 
that  the  religion  of  which  it  was  a part  could  not  be  all 
bad,  in  spite  of  what  she  had  been  taught  to  believe. 
Moreover,  when  she  was  in  Tokyo,  she  met  certain  peo- 
ple who  seemed  to  her  different  from  any  she  had  ever 
known.  She  says  that  even  before  she  knew  anything 
of  the  religion  which  they  professed  she  could  not  help 
noticing  their  fineness  and  strength.  One  of  them  was 
a young  woman  who  had  taken  the  teachers’  training 
course  with  her,  and  at  last  Mrs.  Yajima  asked  her 
where  she  went  every  Sunday  and  finally  began  to  go  to 
church  with  her.  The  more  she  learned  of  Christianity 
the  more  it  appealed  to  her,  until  at  last  her  interest 
became  so  evident  that  it  attracted  the  attention  of  her 
fellow  teachers.  Religious  liberty  was  not  guaranteed 
until  1889,  and  the  placards  offering  rewards  to  in- 
formers against  Christians  remained  up  until  1873,  and 
Mrs.  Yajima  found  that  her  interest  in  Christianity 
led  to  such  hostile  feeling  against  her  that  she  finally 
resigned  her  position. 

At  just  about  this  time  Mrs.  True,  a missionary,  was 
establishing  a school  for  girls,  but,  as  she  had  not  yet 
learned  the  Japanese  language,  she  very  much  needed 
the  help  of  an  able  Japanese  woman.  Mr.  Yasukawa, 
pastor  of  a church  in  Tokyo,  had  become  acquainted 
with  Mrs.  Yajima,  and  at  his  recommendation  she 
went  to  Mrs.  True  in  1877  and  began  the  educational 
work  for  Japanese  girls  in  which  she  was  associated 
with  the  Presbyterian  missionaries  for  thirty-five  years. 


68 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


Her  interest  in  Christianity  grew  rapidly  after  she  be- 
gan her  work  with  Mrs.  True,  for  Mrs.  True’s  life 
was  a constant  inspiration  to  her,  and  convinced  her 
that  the  religion  which  she  taught  must  be  the  true 
one.  Not  long  after  coming  to  Graham  Seminary  she 
united  with  the  Presbyterian  church  of  which  she  has 
been  a most  loyal  and  faithful  member  ever  since, 
never  hesitating  even  yet,  although  she  is  over  eighty, 
to  walk  a mile,  alone  if  necessary,  to  attend  its  serv- 
ices. 

Mrs.  Yajima  worked  with  Mrs.  True  in  Graham 
Seminary  for  several  years,  and  then  became  the 
principal  of  another  Christian  school  for  girls,  which 
had  been  established  by  a Japanese  Christian  woman, 
who  finally  turned  it  over  to  the  Presbyterian  mission. 
In  1890  this  school  was  united  with  Graham  Seminary 
to  form  the  Joshi  Gakuin,  the  splendid  Presbyterian 
school  for  girls  in  Tokyo.  Mrs.  Yajima  was  appointed 
the  principal  of  the  new  institution,  and  for  over 
twenty  years  stood  at  its  head.  Before  she  laid  down 
her  active  work  in  the  Joshi  Gakuin,  in  1913,  she  had 
seen  it  grow  into  one  of  the  largest  and  most  advanced 
schools  for  girls  in  Japan,  employing  twenty  Japanese 
teachers  and  five  missionaries,  with  an  average  attend- 
ance of  one  hundred  and  sixty  girls  in  the  academy  and 
thirty  in  the  collegiate  department. 

In  1886  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union 
sent  Mrs.  Mary  C.  Leavitt  to  Japan  to  organize  a de- 
partment there.  This  was  no  easy  task,  for,  while 
Japan  had  become  almost  startlingly  modem  in  many 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


69 


respects,  woman’s  life  was  the  last  to  feel  the  effects  of 
the  fresh  impulses  from  the  West.  Not  many  Japanese 
women  had  as  yet  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of  assum- 
ing any  responsibilities  outside  the  home,  and  the  idea 
of  a great  national  organization  wholly  controlled  by 
women  was  appalling  to  them.  It  may  well  be  doubted 
whether  Mrs.  Leavitt  could  have  succeeded  in  organiz- 
ing the  Temperance  Union  without  the  whole-hearted 
help  of  Mrs.  Yajima,  who  went  from  house  to  house, 
calling  upon  strangers  as  well  as  friends,  firing  her 
countrywomen  with  her  own  enthusiasm  and  making 
them  believe  in  the  cause  so  thoroughly  that  they  were 
willing  to  attempt  tasks  hitherto  undreamed  of.  Her 
energy  and  devotion  were  indefatigable;  no  effort  was 
too  great  to  make  for  a work  which  would  save  other 
homes  from  that  which  had  ruined  hers.  Moreover, 
when  she  was  a teacher  in  the  primary  schools,  she  had 
investigated  the  families  of  the  boys  and  girls  who  did 
not  do  well  in  their  studies  and  had  found  that  eight 
tenths  of  these  children  came  from  homes  where  one  or 
both  parents  drank.  Mrs.  Leavitt  could  have  found  no 
more  intelligent,  no  more  ardent  opponent  of  sake,1  the 
Japanese  liquor,  than  Mrs.  Yajima,  nor  could  she  have 
secured  a more  capable  leader  for  the  new  movement. 

After  the  work  was  finally  started,  with  a member- 
ship of  thirty  Christian  women,  Mrs.  Yajima  gave  every 
atom  of  time  and  strength  which  could  be  spared  from 
her  school  work  to  building  up  the  new  organization. 
It  was  not  easy.  Mrs.  Iwamoto,  one  of  the  supporters 


Pronounced  sah'-ke. 


70  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

of  the  new  work,  wrote  ten  years  after  the  Union  was 
organized : “ Only  those  who  have  been  in  the  heart  of 
the  movement  can  know  how  very  arduous  Kyofokwai 
(Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union)  work  has 
been  and  what  patience  it  cost  its  first  advocates  to 
work  it  up,  in  the  face  of  all  manner  of  obstacles,  to 
its  present  growth.  Naturally  there  had  been  opposi- 
tion to  women  taking  up  this  kind  of  public  work,  and 
even  Christians  have  not  all  been  in  favor  of  it.  Be- 
sides, Japanese  ladies  have  not  nearly  the  same  amount 
of  time  and  money  to  contribute  to  public  enterprises 
as  foreign  ladies  of  equal  position  in  society.  It  is 
a matter  well  known  how  arduous  a task  it  has  been 
to  keep  the  work  going,  as  well  as  support  the  organ  of 
the  society,  which  was  begun  some  years  later,  and 
edited  solely  by  Kyofokwai  ladies.  But  Mrs.  Yajima 
and  her  associates  have  struggled  bravely  on  to  this  day, 
and  both  the  Christian  and  non-Christian  public  have 
come  to  recognize  the  monument  of  their  patience  and 
labors.” 

The  matter  of  financial  support  was  one  of  the  great- 
est difficulties,  for  even  the  most  interested  Japanese 
women  had  little  money  to  give.  But  if  there  was  a 
need,  Mrs.  Yajima  refused  to  be  discouraged  by  lack 
of  funds.  Little  by  little,  here  and  there,  she  herself 
collected  272  yen  for  the  first  Rescue  Home ; and  when 
the  Woman's  Herald,  which  she  herself  carried  on  for 
several  years,  had  a deficit  she  quietly  paid  it  from  her 
own  funds. 

The  work  over  which  Mrs.  Yajima  now  presides 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


7 1 


consists  of  sixty-nine  branches  in  various  parts  of 
Japan,  with  a membership  of  over  5,000.  Its  activities 
are  divided  into  thirteen  departments : Legislation, 
Flower  Mission,  Mothers’  Meetings,  Rescue  Work, 
Soldiers,  Literature,  Scientific  Temperance,  Education, 
Hygiene,  Work  in  Factories,  Evangelistic  Work, 
Anti-Narcotics,  and  Mercy.  Two  magazines  are  now 
published,  one  of  which  has  a subscription  list  of  1,200, 
the  other  of  11,000;  a night  school  for  young  women 
is  carried  on ; a rescue  home  endeavors  to  do  both  pre- 
ventive and  reformative  work;  and  so  large  a work  is 
done  among  children  that  a young  Japanese  woman, 
Miss  Moriya,  gives  practically  her  entire  time  to  that 
department. 

The  years  during  which  Japan  was  at  war  with 
Russia  were  overwhelmingly  busy  ones  for  Mrs.  Ya- 
jima.  Many  people  were  eager  to  send  “ comfort 
bags  ” to  the  sailors,  and  the  government  decided  to 
permit  such  bags  to  be  sent  provided  that  the  Woman’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union  would  assume  the  respon- 
sibility of  seeing  that  at  least  30,000  bags  were  fur- 
nished, and  of  inspecting  each  bag  to  see  that  no  ob- 
jectionable object  or  literature  was  contained  in  it. 
The  government  seal  was  entrusted  to  Mrs.  Yajima, 
and  the  government  held  her  personally  responsible 
for  the  number,  size,  and  contents  of  all  the  bags. 
No  Tag  was  permitted  to  go  until  she  had  stamped 
it,  but  after  her  stamp  was  on  it,  it  went  straight  to  the 
sailors  without  further  inspection.  This  meant  no 
light  responsibility,  for  in  the  first  place  Mrs.  Yajima 


72 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


had  to  guarantee  that  no  less  than  30,000  bags  should 
be  sent,  and  not  a few  of  her  associates  felt  that  this 
number  was  impossibly  large.  Then  each  bag  must 
be  inspected  to  see  that  it  held  nothing  except  the 
articles  approved  by  the  government,  such  as  towels, 
handkerchiefs,  stockings,  undershirts,  tooth-brushes 
and  tooth-powder,  writing  materials,  sewing  materials, 
approved  medicine,  sweetmeats  that  would  not  spoil  in 
transportation,  and  other  articles.  After  the  bag  had 
been  inspected  a Testament  and  some  leaflets  were 
added  to  its  contents,  and  Mrs.  Yajima  stamped  it. 
After  weeks  of  work  30,000  bags  were  sent  to  the 
navy.  The  Union’s  work  was  by  no  means  over,  how- 
ever, for  no  sooner  had  the  men  of  the  navy  received 
their  bags  than  the  soldiers  in  the  army  pleaded  for  a 
similar  gift,  and  Mrs.  Yajima  began  work  on  a second 
lot  of  30,000.  One  of  her  most  treasured  possessions 
is  the  set  of  bowls,  decorated  with  the  imperial  seal, 
which  the  emperor  sent  her  as  a token  of  his  personal 
appreciation  of  her  months  of  work  on  behalf  of  the 
soldiers ; but  no  less  valued  are  the  five  thousand  letters 
which  came  from  the  men  of  the  army  and  navy  them- 
selves. 

In  1906  the  World’s  Woman’s  Christian  Temper- 
ance Union  held  a convention  in  Boston,  and  Mrs. 
Yajima  was  asked  to  bring  greetings  from  Japan.  She 
was  seventy-four  years  old,  she  had  never  been  out- 
side of  Japan,  and  she  knew  no  English,  and  few  of 
her  friends  encouraged  her  to  make  the  long  journey, 
but  she  decided  to  go.  She  felt  that  the  Woman’s 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


73 


Christian  Temperance  Union  in  Japan  needed  two  per- 
manent missionaries  who  could  give  their  full  time  to 
the  work,  and  she  wanted  to  present  that  plea  to  the 
great  company  at  Boston.  She  had  a niece  in  college 
in  California  who  promised  to  take  her  across  the  con- 
tinent, but  she  took  the  long  voyage  across  the  Pacific 
alone.  While  she  was  on  the  steamer  she  learned 
the  Shepherd  Psalm  by  heart,  in  English,  that  she 
might  be  able  to  give  that  “ kokoro  kara  ” (greeting) 
straight  from  her  heart,  without  an  interpreter. 

Mrs.  Yajima  made  a great  impression  on  the  audi- 
ence which  she  addressed  in  Boston.  Both  she  and  her 
niece,  who  acted  as  her  interpreter,  “ captured  the  con- 
vention by  the  naivete  and  charm  of  their  responses 
and  greetings,”  says  a report  of  the  gathering.  “ Con- 
spicuous on  the  platform  stood  a Japanese  banner  of 
crimson  satin  exquisitely  embroidered  in  white  and 
gold.  ‘ Our  nation  is  small/  said  Mrs.  Yajima,  ‘ our 
people  are  small ; therefore  we  bring  a large  banner.’  ” 
In  the  course  of  her  address  she  remarked,  “ Every 
one  who  sees  me  says  I am  young.  I say  there  is  a 
reason  that  I must  be  young.  I was  bom  in  the  new 
life  of  Christianity  only  twenty-six  years  ago,  so  I am 
only  twenty-six  years  old,  and  I must  work  at  least 
thirty  years  or  forty  years  more  from  to-day.”  At  the 
close  of  her  address  the  great  audience  rose  and  gave 
her  the  “ white  ribbon  cheer,”  and  the  national  secre- 
taries presented  her  with  beautiful  flowers. 

Her  visit  to  America  accomplished  all  that  she  had 
hoped  it  might,  for  the  convention  pledged  itself  to 


74 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


support  one  temperance  missionary  to  Japan  and  a 
New  York  member  promised  to  support  a second 
worker.  Moreover  one  young  woman  became  so  much 
interested  in  Japan  and  the  work  of  the  Woman’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union  there,  through  meeting 
Mrs.  Yajima,  that  she  became  one  of  the  two  mis- 
sionaries. 

Before  leaving  America  Mrs.  Yajima  was  received 
by  President  Roosevelt,  and  tendered  to  him  her  grate- 
ful thanks  for  his  service  as  a mediator  between  Japan 
and  Russia. 

Although  over  eighty  Mrs.  Yajima  is  as  indefatiga- 
ble as  ever.  A recent  report  from  Miss  Ruth  Davis, 
missionary  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance 
Union  in  Japan,  reads  : “ This  last  May  she  (Mrs. 
Yajima)  passed  her  eightieth  birthday  in  the  city  of 
Nagasaki  while  on  a month’s  tour  of  the  southern 
island  of  Kyushu.  It  would  be  wonderful  in  any  coun- 
try, and  it  is  especially  wonderful  in  Japan,  where  the 
custom  of  retiring  from  active  life  at  the  age  of  fifty 
has  not  yet  gone  entirely  out  of  fashion,  for  a woman 
of  Mrs.  Yajima’s  age  to  undertake  such  a journey, 
and  to  succeed  in  accomplishing  the  amount  of  work 
she  planned  for  herself.  Altogether  she  held  sixty 
meetings  and  addressed  over  fifteen  thousand  people, 
speaking  in  girls’  high  schools,  before  branches  of  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  and  in  the 
churches.  She  organized  two  new  branches  of  the 
Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  and  gained  one 
hundred  and  fifty  active  members  for  the  societies 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


75 


which  were  already  in  existence.  Her  traveling  com- 
panion tells  us  that  never  once  in  the  course  of  her 
journey  did  Madame  Yajima  say  she  was  tired.” 

When  the  Yoshiwara  1 of  Tokyo,  the  section  of  the 
city  given  up  to  houses  of  prostitution,  was  destroyed 
by  fire,  in  1911,  Mrs.  Yajima  was  one  of  the  leading 
spirits  in  the  campaign  organized  by  the  Salvation 
Army,  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association,  and 
the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union  for  the 
purpose  of  preventing  its  rebuilding.  Although  Mrs. 
Yajima  was  then  seventy-eight  years  old,  she  presided 
over  fifteen  of  the  great  mass-meetings  held  in  the 
interests  of  this  campaign,  making  a short  address 
herself  on  each  occasion.  She  also  drew  up  the  peti- 
tion which  was  presented  to  the  mayor,  by  her  own 
efforts  obtained  ten  thousand  signatures  to  it,  and  pre- 
sented it  to  the  mayor  in  person.  She  received  in- 
numerable anonymous  letters  telling  her  that  unless 
she  stopped  her  efforts  to  prevent  the  rebuilding  of  the 
Yoshiwara  her  life  would  not  be  safe  from  day  to  day. 
But  Mrs.  Yajima  paid  no  heed  to  these  threats  and 
went  serenely  on  with  her  work,  though  it  was  often 
necessary  for  her  to  return  from  meetings  in  her 
jinrickisha  at  eleven  or  twelve  o’clock  at  night. 

Mrs.  Yajima  has  lost  none  of  her  power  as  a 
speaker  as  she  has  grown  older.  Dr.  Pettee,  in  giv- 
ing an  account  of  the  national  convention  of  the 

:A  district  in  Tokyo  appropriated  to  the  sex  evil,  with  imposing 
buildings  and  features  of  most  regrettable  display  of  the  young 
women  devoted  to  immorality. 


76 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union,  says  that  her 
age  would  never  be  suspected,  “ as  you  note  the  zeal 
and  tact  with  which  she  presided  over  that  great  meet- 
ing, and  especially  if  you  were  privileged  to  witness 
the  businesslike  manner  in  which  she  called  through 
the  telephone  for  a shorthand  reporter  to  take  down 
a full  stenographic  account  of  the  proceedings.  No 
wonder,  she  was  enthusiastically  received,”  he  ex- 
claimed, “ being  twice  given  a Chautauqua  salute,  and 
was  unanimously  reelected  president  for  another 
year.” 

She  is  still  acceptable  to  the  largest  audiences. 
A recent  note  in  the  Japan  Evangelist  reads : “ A large 
public  meeting  was  held  in  the  evening  in  an  immense 
hall.  . . . About  one  thousand  people  gathered  to 
listen  to  members  of  Parliament,  who  made  powerful 
appeals  for  the  highest  moral  standard.  . . . Mrs. 
Yajima  made  the  opening  address.”  “ Perhaps  no  un- 
titled Japanese  woman,”  says  Dr.  Pettee  of  Japan,  “ has 
served  on  more  important  committees,  graced  more 
social  functions,  or  exerted  a wider  influence  in  the 
moral  uplift  of  the  nation  than  modest  Mrs.  Yajima. 
She  is  loved  and  honored  alike  by  her  own  people  and 
by  foreigners;  by  Christians  and  other  religionists; 
by  those  of  high  estate  and  also  by  the  lowly  poor.” 

One  of  the  staunchest  of  her  friends  isCountOkuma, 
the  present  premier  of  Japan.  There  is  no  tie  of  blood 
between  them,  but  Count  Okuma  is  fond  of  referring 
to  Mrs.  Yajima  as  “ nei  san  ” (older  sister),  claiming 
relationship  to  her  on  the  ground  of  the  kindred  ideals 


THE  FRANCES  WILLARD  OF  JAPAN 


77 


and  ambitions  for  Japan  which  both  are  seeking  to 
realize.  “ I have  never  known  Count  Okuma  to  refuse 
any  request  Mrs.  Yajima  made  of  him,”  one  of  her 
friends  writes.  “ Both  he  and  the  countess  are  honor- 
ary members  of  the  Temperance  Union  and  have  con- 
tributed generously  toward  its  support,  and  time  and 
again  their  beautiful  home  and  gardens  have  been 
opened  for  its  gatherings.”  Count  Okuma  has  also 
been  a frequent  speaker  at  meetings  held  under  the 
auspices  of  the  Woman’s  Christian  Temperance  Union. 

Mrs.  Yajima  is  herself  the  living  exponent  of  the 
doctrine  which  she  is  constantly  giving  to  the  young 
people  before  whom  she  speaks.  There  are  two  rules 
for  a long  and  happy  life,  she  tells  them:  first,  abstain 
from  all  things  harmful ; second,  be  so  busy  with  good  | 
and  useful  work  for  others  that  there  is  no  time  for 
thought  of  self.  “ Be  so  busy  living,”  she  says,  “ that 
you  never  have  time  to  take  thought  of  dying,  for  | 
when  you  have  learned  how  to  live , you  needn’t  be 
bothered  with  learning  how  to  die.”  Such  advice  from 
Mrs.  Yajima  is  very  convincing,  for  no  one  who  knows 
how  she  fills  each  day  to  the  brim  with  glad  self-giving 
can  doubt  that  she  has  so  learned  to  live  that  when 
she  lays  down  the  tasks  of  earth  it  will  be  with  joyous 
eagerness  to  take  up  the  more  perfect  service  of  an 
even  richer  and  more  radiant  life. 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


I was  ready  to  take  all  men  to  my  heart. 

— Dwight  L.  Moody. 


DWIGHT  L.  MOODY 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


The  village  of  East  Northfield,  Massachusetts,  was 
not  a very  large  place  in  the  middle  of  the  last  century, 
and  life  there  used  sometimes  to  seem  a trifle  slow 
to  one  of  its  youthful  inhabitants.  But  there  were 
ways  to  vary  the  monotony.  One  was  to  lead  his  will- 
ing schoolmates  to  the  cattle  sheds  of  “ Squire  ” 
Alexander,  where  a number  of  young  steers  were  kept. 
A quiet  climb  to  the  empty  rafters  suddenly  followed 
by  a chorus  of  wild  Indian  war-whoops  and  vigorous 
jumping  on  the  loose  planks  furnished  almost  un- 
limited excitement  for  wildly  fleeing  steers,  irate  squire, 
and  gleeful  small  boys.  The  appropriation  of  the 
squire’s  old  pung  to  coast  down  the  steep  hill  below  his 
house  was  another  adventure  sufficiently  reckless  to 
be  full  of  zest.  Once  a neat  notice  appeared  on  the 
schoolhouse  door,  stating  that  an  out-of-town  speaker 
would  deliver  a lecture  on  temperance  there  on  a cer- 
tain evening.  When  the  evening  came  the  school- 
house  was  warmed  and  lighted  for  the  occasion,  and 
a number  of  people  gathered  to  listen  to  the  words 
of  wisdom  of  the  lecturer.  But  no  lecturer  appeared, 
and  the  audience  finally  dispersed,  full  of  indignation 
at  the  practical  joker  whose  identity  no  one  knew, 
except  a certain  small  boy  who  was  loud  in  his  con- 

79 


8o 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


demnation  of  such  a foolish  joke.  At  another  time 
this  small  boy  was  to  give  Mark  Antony’s  oration 
over  Julius  Caesar  at  the  “ closing  exercises  ” of  the 
district  school.  Just  before  his  oration  he  introduced 
a touch  of  realism  by  placing  on  the  desk  a long  nar- 
row box  to  represent  the  coffin  of  the  deceased  Caesar. 
In  the  height  of  his  eloquence  an  impassioned  gesture 
knocked  off  the  box  cover,  and  out  sprang  a terrified 
tom-cat,  who  dashed  wild-eyed  into  the  midst  of  a 
startled  and  almost  equally  terrified  audience. 

The  stocky  little  boy  who  was  the  perpetrator  of  all 
these  pranks  was  Dwight  Lyman  Moody,  next  to  the 
youngest  son  in  the  family  of  nine  sturdy  Moody 
children.  His  father  died  suddenly  while  he  was  still 
a very  little  boy,  and  practically  everything  which  the 
family  owned,  even  to  the  kindling  in  the  woodshed, 
was  taken  by  his  creditors.  Dwight  never  forgot  the 
morning  after  the  kindling-wood  had  been  taken,  when 
the  children  were  told  to  stay  in  bed  until  school-time 
to  keep  warm. 

Many  neighbors  and  friends  advised  “ Widow 
Moody  ” to  break  up  the  home  and  place  the  children 
with  families  which  would  care  for  them.  But,  al- 
though she  had  nothing  left  but  her  children  and  al- 
most no  means  of  support,  Mrs.  Moody  never  for  a 
moment  considered  such  a plan  as  this.  It  was  neces- 
sary, however,  to  take  the  boys  from  school  and  let 
them  go  to  work  while  they  were  still  little  chaps.  When 
Dwight  was  only  ten,  an  older  brother  found  a place 
for  him  to  work  during  the  winter  months  in  a village 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


81 


thirteen  miles  from  Northfield,  and  one  November 
morning  the  little  fellow  left  home  to  take  his  part  in 
the  family's  difficult  task  of  keeping  the  wolf  from  the 
door. 

“ Do  you  know,”  he  said,  many  years  later,  “ No- 
vember has  always  been  a dreary  month  to  me,  ever 
since.  As  we  passed  over  the  river  and  up  the  oppo- 
site side  of  the  valley  we  turned  to  look  back  for  a last 
view  of  home.  It  was  to  be  my  last  for  weeks,  for 
months,  perhaps  forever,  and  my  heart  well-nigh  broke 
at  the  thought.  That  was  the  longest  journey  I ever 
took,  for  thirteen  miles  was  more  to  me  at  ten  than 
the  world’s  circumference  has  been  ever  since.”  There 
was  no  thought  of  turning  back,  however,  for  he 
had  promised  to  go,  and  the  Moody  boys  had  been 
taught  that  a promise  must  be  kept  at  all  costs. 

The  Moody  children  knew  much  of  poverty  and 
hard  work,  nothing  of  luxuries,  and  not  much  of  com- 
fort; but  their  mother  taught  them  not  only  to  be 
satisfied  with  little,  but  to  share  that  little  with  those 
who  had  less.  When  she  let  them  vote  one  evening, 
just  as  they  were  sitting  down  to  a very  scanty  supper, 
whether  they  would  share  it  with  a hungry  beggar, 
it  was  unanimously  decided  that  their  slices  should 
be  cut  a little  thinner  that  the  hungry  man  might  have 
a part. 

The  religious  teaching  which  Dwight  L.  Moody 
received  as  a child  was  very  different  in  one  way  from 
that  which  his  own  children  received,  for  he  knew 
almost  nothing  of  the  Bible.  But  though  he  lacked 


8 2 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


familiarity  with  the  Book  which  he  afterward  held  as 
“ the  dearest  thing  on  earth,”  he  did  not  lack  a knowl- 
edge of  the  God  of  whom  the  Bible  taught.  Every 
Sunday,  rain  or  shine,  the  Moody  children,  big  and 
little,  started  off  for  church,  their  lunch  pails  in  one 
hand  and  in  summer  their  shoes  and  stockings  in  the 
other.  They  spent  the  day  at  the  church,  hearing  a 
sermon  both  morning  and  afternoon,  and  then  all 
trooped  home  for  supper. 

“ Trust  in  God  ” was  the  sum  and  substance  of  their 
mother’s  creed,  and  even  while  they  were  still  very 
little  things  the  children  showed  that  they  had  learned 
to  love  and  trust  him  too. 

When  Dwight  was  seventeen  years  old  he  deter- 
mined to  go  to  Boston  to  find  work.  He  had  no 
money,  but  he  decided  that  he  would  go,  even  if  he 
had  to  walk  all  the  way.  His  mother  could  not  help 
him,  but  on  his  way  to  the  station  he  met  an  older 
brother,  who  gave  him  five  dollars,  which  was  just 
enough  to  pay  his  railroad  fare.  The  first  days  in 
Boston  were  probably  the  unhappiest  in  his  life.  “ I 
remember  how  I walked  up  and  down  the  streets  try- 
ing to  find  a situation,”  he  said,  many  years  later, 
“ and  I recollect  how,  when  they  answered  me  roughly, 
their  treatment  would  chill  my  soul.  But  when  some 
one  would  say,  4 1 feel  for  you ; I would  like  to  help  you 
but  I can’t;  but  you’ll  be  all  right  soon!’  I felt 
happy  and  light-hearted.  That  man’s  sympathy  did 
me  good.  It  seemed  as  if  there  was  room  for  every 
one  else  in  the  world,  but  none  for  me.  For  about 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


83 


two  days  I had  the  feeling  that  no  one  wanted  me.  I 
never  have  had  it  since,  and  I never  want  it  again. 
It  is  an  awful  feeling!  ” 

He  had  two  uncles  in  the  shoe  business  in  the  city, 
but  they  did  not  offer  to  give  him  work,  and  it  was  a 
long  time  before  he  was  willing  to  ask  for  it.  When 
he  finally  did  go  to  his  uncle,  he  found  him  very 
willing  to  employ  him,  and  for  two  years  he  was  one 
of  the  most  successful  salesmen  in  his  uncle’s  store. 

It  was  during  his  stay  in  Boston  that  Mr.  Moody 
definitely  enrolled  himself  as  a follower  of  Jesus  Christ. 
One  day  while  he  was  at  work  wrapping  up  shoes  in 
his  uncle’s  store,  his  Sunday-school  teacher,  Mr.  Kim- 
ball, came  in,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder 
began  to  talk  with  him.  “ I simply  told  him  of  Christ’s 
love  for  him  and  the  love  Christ  wanted  in  return,” 
Mr.  Kimball  said.  “ That  was  all  there  was.  It 
seemed  the  young  man  was  just  ready  for  the  light 
that  broke  upon  him,  and  there,  in  the  back  of  that 
store  in  Boston,  he  gave  himself  and  his  life  to 
Christ.” 

“ I remember  the  morning  on  which  I came  out  of 
my  room  after  I had  first  trusted  Christ,”  Moody  says. 
“ I thought  the  old  sun  shone  a good  deal  brighter  than 
it  ever  had  before.  I thought  that  it  was  just  smiling 
upon  me;  and  as  I walked  out  upon  Boston  Common 
and  heard  the  birds  singing  in  the  trees  I thought  they 
were  all  singing  a song  to  me.  Do  you  know,  I fell  in 
love  with  the  birds  I I had  never  cared  for  them  be- 
fore. It  seemed  to  me  that  I was  in  love  with  all 


84 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


creation.  I had  not  a bitter  feeling  against  any  man, 
and  I was  ready  to  take  all  men  to  my  heart.” 

After  two  years  in  Boston,  Moody  decided  that 
there  was  greater  opportunity  for  a young  business 
man  in  the  West,  and  in  the  autumn  of  1856  went  to 
Chicago.  He  secured  a good  position  soon  after  he 
arrived,  and  at  once  allied  himself  with  the  Plymouth 
Congregational  Church.  He  was  very  eager  to  do 
some  kind  of  Christian  work,  and  having  no  faith  in 
his  ability  to  teach  or  speak,  he  decided  that  he  would 
rent  a pew  in  the  Plymouth  Church  and  fill  it  with 
young  men  every  Sunday.  There  was  doubtless  a 
large  number  of  much-startled  young  men  in  Chicago 
every  Sunday  morning  at  this  time,  for  he  waited  for 
no  introductions  but  hailed  perfect  strangers  on  the 
street  corner,  or  invaded  the  boarding-houses  and 
even  the  saloons,  with  his  novel  invitation.  His  hos- 
pitality was  irresistible,  and  he  was  soon  renting  four 
pews  and  filling  every  seat  in  them  with  his  guests  each 
Sunday. 

Then  he  looked  around  for  something  to  do  on 
Sunday  afternoons.  He  soon  discovered  a little  mis- 
sion Sunday-school  on  North  Wells  Street,  where  there 
were  sixteen  teachers  to  twelve  pupils,  and  he  at  once 
constituted  himself  the  school’s  recruiting  agent.  The 
first  Sunday  he  appeared  with  eighteen  ragged  little 
urchins,  who  increased  the  enrolment  of  the  Sunday- 
school  one  hundred  and  fifty  per  cent.  Every  Sunday 
afternoon  for  several  weeks  thereafter  he  appeared, 
like  the  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  with  a troop  of  new 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


85 


small  boys  and  girls  behind  him,  until  the  Wells  Street 
Sunday-school  was  so  full  that  he  decided  that  his  serv- 
ices were  no  longer  needed.  He  then  devoted  his 
energy  to  building  up  another  mission  Sunday-school 
in  another  part  of  the  city  with  such  success  that  it 
was  soon  necessary  to  rent  a larger  public  hall  in  which 
to  hold  it. 

“ Sunday  was  a busy  day  for  me  then,”  Mr.  Moody 
used  to  say.  “ During  the  week  I would  be  out  of 
town  as  a commercial  traveler,  selling  boots  and  shoes, 
but  I would  always  manage  to  be  back  by  Saturday 
night.  Often  it  was  late  when  I got  to  my  room,  but 
I would  have  to  be  up  by  six  o’clock  to  get  the  hall 
ready  for  Sunday-school.  This  usually  took  most  of 
the  morning,  and  when  it  was  done  I would  have  to 
drum  up  the  scholars  and  new  boys  and  girls.  By  the 
time  two  o’clock  came  we  would  have  the  hall  full,  and 
then  I had  to  keep  order  while  the  speaker  for  the  day 
led  the  exercises.  When  school  was  over  I visited 
absent  scholars  and  found  out  why  they  were  not  at 
Sunday-school,  called  on  the  sick,  and  invited  the 
parents  to  attend  the  gospel  service.  By  the  time  I 
had  made  my  rounds  the  hour  had  come  for  the  even- 
ing meeting,  where  I presided,  and  following  that  we 
had  an  after-meeting.  By  the  time  I was  through  the 
day  I was  tired  out.” 

Mr.  Moody’s  irrepressible  enthusiasm  and  energy 
soon  built  up  a thriving  Sunday-school  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred pupils,  and  a large  staff  of  strong  teachers.  He 
did  not  act  as  superintendent  himself,  and  usually  left 


86 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


most  of  the  teaching  to  others,  but  he  was  inevitably 
the  center  of  attraction  for  the  children. 

As  the  school  grew,  its  work  naturally  extended 
beyond  the  children  to  the  parents,  and  the  young 
Sunday-school  worker  soon  saw  that  he  could  not  meet 
the  needs  and  opportunities  for  work  in  the  neigh- 
borhood and  go  on  with  his  business  as  well.  The 
struggle  that  followed  this  realization  was  a severe 
one,  for  young  Moody  was  already  an  unusually  suc- 
cessful business  man.  He  had  risen  rapidly  since 
coming  to  Chicago,  and  although  less  than  twenty- 
four  years  old  had  earned  $5,000  on  commissions  in 
a single  year,  in  addition  to  his  salary.  Moreover  it 
was  very  hard  for  him  to  turn  his  back  upon  a work 
in  which  he  had  been  eminently  successful,  to  enter  one 
which  would  require  him  to  do  many  things  for  which 
he  felt  he  was  not  fitted.  He  knew  that  he  could  bring 
young  men  to  church  to  hear  other  men  preach,  and 
could  fill  a big  Sunday-school  with  pupils  for  other 
teachers,  but  it  was  a long  time  before  he  saw  that  he 
must  be  ready  not  only  to  recruit,  but  to  teach  and 
preach  as  well. 

His  first  attempts  at  speaking  in  public  had  not  met 
with  a great  deal  of  encouragement.  After  his  first 
testimony  in  prayer-meeting  a frank  old  deacon  as- 
sured him  that,  in  his  opinion,  he  would  serve  God 
best  by  keeping  still.  Another  fellow  church-member 
praised  his  work  as  a filler  of  pews,  but  urged  him 
to  limit  his  Christian  service  to  such  lines  as  that,  and 
not  attempt  to  speak  in  public.  “ You  make  too  many 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


87 


mistakes  in  grammar,”  he  told  him.  Moody  accepted 
the  criticism  good-naturedly  and  humbly.  “ I know 
I make  mistakes,”  he  said,  “ and  I lack  a great  many 
things,  but  I am  doing  the  best  I can  with  what  I’ve 
got.”  Then  after  a moment’s  pause  he  added,  with 
irresistible  good-humor  and  earnestness,  “ Look  here, 
friend;  you’ve  got  grammar  enough — what  are  you 
doing  with  it  for  the  Master?  ” 

It  is  not  surprising  that  it  was  hard  for  Moody  to 
decide  to  give  himself  wholly  to  a task  which  inevitably 
included  some  public  work.  But  he  finally  turned  his 
back  squarely  and  forever  upon  the  business  world,  in 
which  he  had  already  achieved  notable  success  and 
which  held  such  glowing  promises  for  the  future. 

He  had  saved  $7,000  and  he  decided  to  live  on  this 
as  long  as  it  lasted.  In  order  to  make  it  hold  out  as 
long  as  possible  he  left  his  comfortable  boarding- 
house for  a cot  in  the  prayer-meeting  room  of  the 
Young  Men’s  Christian  Association  and  irregular 
meals  at  a cheap  restaurant.  His  one  thought  was  to 
make  his  savings  last,  and  he  did  not  realize  the  neces- 
sity of  making  his  health  last,  too.  He  used  often  to 
say  in  later  years,  “ I was  an  older  man  before  thirty 
than  I have  ever  been  since.  A man’s  health  is  too 
precious  to  be  as  carelessly  neglected  as  was  mine.” 
Morning,  noon,  and  night  young  Moody  now  de- 
voted himself  to  aggressive  Christian  work.  He  kept 
up  his  big  Sunday-school  and  spent  much  time  visiting 
in  the  homes  of  the  hundreds  of  children  who  filled 
the  big  hall  every  Sunday,  and  interesting  the  parents 


88 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


in  the  evangelistic  meetings  which  he  was  conducting 
almost  every  evening.  He  usually  secured  outside 
speakers  for  these  meetings,  but  sometimes  led  them 
himself.  Every  noon  found  him  at  the  daily  prayer- 
meeting of  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association, 
the  responsibility  for  which  had  been  entrusted  to  him. 
The  Rev.  H.  C.  Mabie  tells  of  the  first  time  he  met 
Moody,  at  one  of  these  noon  prayer-meetings. 

“ As  we  passed  in  there  was  a stocky,  bustling 
Simon-Peter  sort  of  a man  standing  at  the  door,  and 
shaking  hands  with  all  who  entered.  He  spoke  an 
earnest  word  to  each.  At  the  close  of  the  meeting  this 
same  man  remained  to  speak  and  pray  with  an  in- 
quirer or  two  who  had  shown  signs  of  interest  during 
the  meeting.  This  honest  man  was  Mr.  Moody,  and 
he  made  an  impression  on  me  for  life.  I had  never 
before  seen  a layman  so  making  it  his  business  to  press 
men  into  the  Kingdom  as  he  seemed  to  be  doing.” 

When  the  Civil  War  broke  out,  Moody  at  once 
joined  the  western  branch  of  the  Christian  Commis- 
sion, and  gave  himself  to  Christian  work  among  the 
soldiers. 

After  the  great  battle  of  Pittsburg  Landing  a large 
company  of  doctors  and  nurses  were  sent  from  Chicago 
to  care  for  the  wounded,  and  Moody  went  with  them. 
He  was  one  of  the  first,  too,  to  help  with  the  wounded 
after  the  battles  of  Shiloh,  and  Murfreesboro,  and  was 
with  the  army  at  Chattanooga  and  Richmond.  The 
story  of  his  months  with  the  soldiers  is  a thrilling  one. 
Day  after  day  he  stood  before  great  companies  of  men 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


89 


on  the  eve  of  battle,  kindling  them  with  his  own  ardor 
for  the  Lord  of  hosts;  appealing  to  them  to  enroll 
themselves  in  the  army  of  the  Son  of  God. 

“ Crowds  and  crowds  turned  out  to  hear  him,”  says 
General  Howard,  with  whose  command  he  served  for 
some  time.  “ He  showed  them  how  a soldier  could 
give  his  heart  to  God.  His  preaching  was  direct  and 
effective,  and  multitudes  responded  with  a promise 
to  follow  Christ.”  And  when  the  battle  was  over,  and 
the  hospital  tents  were  filled  with  broken  and  dying 
men,  Moody  was  always  there,  gentle  of  touch  and 
voice,  bringing  comfort  and  peace  wherever  he  went. 
After  the  war  had  ended  Moody  went  back  to  his  work 
in  Chicago. 

In  1863,  in  spite  of  Mr.  Moody’s  strong  advice  to 
the  contrary,  the  North  Market  Hall  Sunday  School 
had  been  organized  into  a permanent  church,  known  as 
the  Illinois  Street  Church.  Moody  felt  that  it  was 
unwise  to  multiply  organizations,  and  urged  the  people 
to  join  some  church  in  the  neighborhood,  but  when  he 
saw  that  the  new  church  was  inevitable,  he  gave  him- 
self whole-heartedly  to  its  work.  The  church  was 
open  every  evening  of  the  week,  and  Mr.  Moody  was 
there  practically  every  night,  often  leading  the  evan- 
gelistic meetings  himself. 

His  work  in  the  army  had  made  him  known  to  a much 
larger  circle  of  people  than  before,  and  he  was  in  great 
demand  for  work  in  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Asso- 
ciation and  at  Sunday-school  conventions,  but  he  still 
received  some  very  frank  criticisms,  and  still  met  them 


90  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

in  the  humble,  teachable  spirit  which  the  earnest  young 
beginner  had  shown. 

At  one  of  the  conventions  at  which  he  spoke,  one 
of  the  speakers  who  followed  him  commented  very 
unfavorably  on  his  address,  saying  that  it  was  merely 
a collection  of  newspaper  clippings  and  the  like.  When 
this  critic  sat  down,  Mr.  Moody  rose  and  said  that 
he  knew  that  the  criticisms  which  had  just  been  made 
were  true,  that  he  recognized  his  lack  of  education  and 
his  inability  to  make  a fine  address,  and  wanted  to 
thank  the  speaker  for  pointing  out  his  short-comings, 
and  to  pray  that  God  would  help  him  to  do  better. 

Very  few  people  ever  saw  any  evidence  of  the  hot 
temper  which  was  a part  of  Dwight  L.  Moody’s 
natural  endowment,  but  once  in  a long  time  when  he 
was  tried  beyond  endurance  it  would  flash  out  sud- 
denly. One  evening,  after  a very  earnest  meeting, 
Mr.  Moody  was  standing  at  the  door  of  the  room 
where  the  inquiry  meeting  was  to  be  held,  urging  the 
men  to  come  in.  The  door  to  this  room  was  on  the 
lower  landing  of  the  stairway,  at  the  head  of  a short 
flight,  and  as  Moody  stood  there  a man  came  up  to 
him  and  deliberately  insulted  him.  Mr.  Moody  would 
never  repeat  the  insult,  but  it  was  such  as  to  make 
him  thrust  the  man  from  him  so  violently  as  to  send 
him  reeling  down  the  stairway.  The  man  was  not 
hurt,  but  Moody’s  repentance  was  instant.  A friend 
who  was  there,  says: 

“ When  I saw  Mr.  Moody  give  way  to  his  temper, 
although  I could  not  but  believe  the  provocation  was 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


9i 


extraordinary,  I said  to  myself,  ‘ This  meeting  is 
killed.  The  large  number  who  have  seen  the  whole 
thing  will  hardly  be  in  a condition  to  be  influenced 
by  anything  more  Mr.  Moody  may  say  to-night.’  But 
before  Moody  began  the  second  meeting  that  night  he 
rose,  and  with  trembling  voice  made  a humble  apology. 

“ * Friends,’  he  said,  ‘ before  beginning  to-night  I 
want  to  confess  that  I yielded  just  now  to  my  temper, 
out  in  the  hall,  and  have  done  wrong.  Just  as  I was 
coming  in  here  to-night  I lost  my  temper  with  a man, 
and  I want  to  confess  my  wrong  before  you  all,  and 
if  that  man  is  present  here  whom  I thrust  away  from 
me  in  anger  I want  to  ask  his  forgiveness  and  God’s. — 
Let  us  pray.’ 

“ There  was  not  a word  of  excuse  or  vindication  for 
resenting  the  insult.  The  impression  made  by  his 
words  was  wonderful,  and  instead  of  the  meeting  be- 
ing killed  by  the  scene,  it  was  greatly  blessed  by  such 
a consistent  and  straightforward  confession.” 

In  1867  and  1872  Mr.  Moody  visited  England,  the 
first  trip  being  made  chiefly  in  the  interest  of  his  wife’s 
health,  and  the  second  one  for  the  purpose  of  doing 
some  Bible  study  under  the  guidance  of  English  pro- 
fessors. Neither  visit  was  a long  one,  but  Moody  made 
a host  of  friends,  three  of  whom,  the  Rev.  William 
Pennefather,  Mr.  Cuthbert  Bainbridge,  and  Mr.  Henry 
Bewley,  strongly  urged  him  to  come  to  Great  Britain 
in  1873,  for  a series  of  evangelistic  meetings,  promis- 
ing to  meet  all  his  traveling  expenses  and  those  of  his 
party.  The  work  in  Chicago  was  in  such  a condition 


92 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


that  Mr.  Moody  felt  able  to  leave  it,  and  he  and  his 
family,  with  Mr.  Sankey,  whose  singing  was  an  im- 
portant part  of  the  evangelistic  campaign,  sailed  for 
Liverpool  in  June,  1873.  They  were  somewhat  sur- 
prised that  the  money  for  their  traveling  expenses 
did  not  reach  them  before  they  sailed,  as  had  been 
arranged,  but  when  they  reached  Liverpool  they  under- 
stood. A letter  was  awaiting  them,  telling  them  that 
all  three  of  the  friends  who  had  promised  to  plan 
and  finance  this  visit  in  Great  Britain  had  suddenly 
died. 

“ God  seems  to  have  closed  the  doors/’  Mr.  Moody 
said  to  Mr.  Sankey.  “ We  will  not  open  any  our- 
selves. If  he  opens  the  door  we  will  go  in;  other- 
wise we  will  return  to  America.” 

That  night,  in  the  hotel  at  Liverpool,  Mr.  Moody 
found  in  his  pocket  an  unopened  letter  which  he  had  re- 
ceived just  before  sailing.  He  found  that  it  was  from 
the  secretary  of  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association 
of  York,  England,  telling  him  that  he  had  heard  of  his 
work  among  young  men  in  America,  and  that  he  hoped 
if  he  ever  came  to  England  he  would  come  to  York. 

“ The  door  is  only  ajar,”  Mr.  Moody  exclaimed, 
“ but  we  will  consider  the  letter  as  God’s  hand  leading 
to  York,  and  we  will  go  there.” 

Mr.  Moody  arrived  in  York  Saturday  morning,  and 
began  his  meetings  on  Sunday.  It  was  summer-time, 
there  had  been  no  time  for  preparation,  and  the  secre- 
tary of  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association  was 
practically  the  only  person  in  York  who  had  ever  heard 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


93 


of  Mr.  Moody.  But  after  the  first  week  the  meetings 
grew  steadily  and  rapidly,  in  both  attendance  and  in- 
terest, and  attracted  much  attention  throughout  Eng- 
land. After  five  weeks  of  meetings  in  York,  during 
which  several  hundreds  professed  their  purpose  to 
become  Christians,  Mr.  Moody  accepted  an  invita- 
tion to  Sunderland,  where  the  meetings  were  even 
larger  than  those  in  York.  The  meetings  in  Sunder- 
land were  followed  by  several  weeks  of  very  successful 
work  in  Newcastle-on-Tyne,  and  in  November  Mr. 
Moody  began  ten  weeks  of  meetings  in  Edinburgh. 
Early  in  February,  work  was  begun  in  Glasgow.  The 
interest  in  the  meetings  and  the  response  to  them  were 
everywhere  overwhelming. 

During  the  following  year  Mr.  Moody  conducted 
similar  meetings  in  Belfast,  Londonderry,  Dublin, 
Manchester,  Sheffield,  Birmingham,  and  Liverpool, 
everywhere  preaching  to  enormous,  eager  audiences, 
and  everywhere  winning  thousands  to  allegiance  to  his 
Master.  In  March,  1875,  he  began  his  four  months’ 
campaign  in  London,  the  largest  city  of  the  world,  and 
in  many  respects  one  of  the  most  difficult  in  which  to 
hold  such  services.  Most  careful  preparation  had  been 
made  for  this  campaign,  and  a large  and  earnest  com- 
mittee worked  closely  with  Mr.  Moody  all  through  it. 
The  first  meeting  was  held  in  Agricultural  Hall,  which 
was  filled  with  eager  listeners  throughout  the  months 
of  Mr.  Moodv’s  work  in  London,  and  a second  place 
of  meeting,  the  Bow  Road  Hall,  on  the  east  side  of 
London,  was  also  packed  every  night. 


94 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


“ The  preaching  begins  at  eight  o’clock/’  an  Amer- 
ican who  was  in  London  during  these  meetings  wrote 
home.  “ At  half  past  seven  every  chair  in  the  hall  is 
filled.  Late  comers,  who  cannot  be  packed  upon  the 
platform,  or  find  standing-room  out  of  range  of  those 
who  are  seated,  are  turned  away  by  the  policemen  at 
the  entrances.  ...  A Christian  cannot  look  into  the 
faces  of  this  serious,  hushed,  expectant  audience  of 
eight  or  ten  thousand  people  without  being  deeply 
moved  by  the  thought  of  the  issues  that  may  hang  on 
this  hour.  Hundreds,  if  not  thousands  of  them  have 
come  from  other  quarters  of  the  city,  from  five  to  ten 
miles  away.  They  sit  so  closely  packed  that  the  men 
wear  their  hats.  Ushers,  carrying  their  tall  rods  of 
office,  are  thickly  scattered  along  the  entrances  and 
aisles.  ...  At  the  close  of  the  address,  which  was 
something  less  than  an  hour  long,  those  who  wished  to 
become  Christians  were  invited  to  stand  up;  and  sev- 
eral hundred  arose.” 

“ Nothing  is  clearer  than  that  London  has  been  re- 
markably stirred  by  the  labors  of  these  two  evangel- 
ists,” the  same  American  wrote.  “ The  windows  of 
every  print  store  are  hung  with  their  pictures.  Penny 
editions  of  Mr.  Sankey’s  songs  are  hawked  about  the 
streets.  The  stages  and  the  railway  stations  are 
placarded  to  catch  the  travelers  for  their  meetings. 
The  papers  report  their  services  with  a fulness  never 
dreamed  of  before  in  giving  account  of  religious 
meetings.” 

During  his  four  months  in  London,  Mr.  Moody 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


95 


held  285  meetings,  which  it  was  estimated  were  at- 
tended by  approximately  2,530,000  people. 

During  the  first  winter  after  his  return  to  America, 
in  1875,  he  conducted  campaigns  in  Brooklyn,  Phila- 
delphia, and  New  York,  all  of  which  were  very  largely 
attended  and  most  successful  in  every  way.  They 
not  only  reached  vast  numbers  of  people;  they  also 
touched  all  kinds  of  people.  A newspaper  reported 
of  the  New  York  meetings:  “ In  the  Hippodrome  Mr. 
Moody  has  gathered  day  by  day  the  largest  audiences 
ever  seen  in  this  city.  Lawyers,  bankers,  merchants, 
some  of  whom  scarcely  ever  enter  a church,  are  just 
as  much  a part  of  his  congregations  as  are  the  second- 
rate  and  the  third-rate  boarding-house  people  men- 
tioned so  conspicuously  in  a recent  analysis.  All  classes 
and  conditions  of  men  have  been  represented  in  these 
great  revival  meetings.” 

“ Whatever  philosophical  skeptics  may  say,”  said 
the  New  York  Times , after  the  meetings  in  the  Hippo- 
drome had  closed,  “ the  work  accomplished  this  winter 
by  Mr.  Moody  in  this  city  for  private  and  public 
morals  will  live.  The  drunken  have  become  sober,  the 
vicious  virtuous,  the  worldly  and  self-seeking  unselfish, 
the  ignoble  noble,  the  impure  pure,  the  youth  have 
started  with  more  generous  aims,  the  old  have  been 
stirred  from  grossness.  A new  hope  has  lifted  up 
hundreds  of  human  beings,  a new  consolation  has  come 
to  the  sorrowful,  and  a better  principle  has  entered 
the  sordid  life  of  the  day  through  the  labors  of  these 
plain  men.  Whatever  the  prejudiced  may  say  against 


96 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


them,  the  honest-minded  and  just  will  not  forget  their 
labors  of  love/' 

Five  great  campaigns  in  Brooklyn,  Philadelphia, 
New  York,  Chicago,  and  Boston  were  the  beginning 
of  Mr.  Moody’s  evangelistic  work  in  America,  to  which 
he  gave  almost  all  his  time  until  his  death  in  1899. 
He  visited  all  the  leading  cities  in  the  United  States 
and  Canada,  from  north  to  south  and  from  east  to 
west,  sometimes  spending  an  entire  winter  in  con- 
centrated work  in  one  city.  He  never  lost  his  power. 
When  in  1897,  two  years  before  he  was  forced  to  lay 
down  his  work,  he  conducted  a series  of  meetings  in 
the  Auditorium,  the  largest  building  in  Chicago,  with 
a seating  capacity  of  six  thousand,  the  Chicago  Times- 
Herald  reported  of  the  opening  meeting: 

“ It  made  a scene  without  precedent.  Six  thou- 
sand more  men  and  women  were  standing  in  the  streets 
after  the  management  had  ordered  the  doors  closed. 
This  multitude  would  not  accept  the  announcement 
that  the  vast  hall  was  packed  from  ceiling  to  pit.  It 
swept  around  the  corners  and  in  the  avenues  until 
traffic  was  blocked.  The  cable  cars  could  not  get  past. 
...  A line  of  policemen  tried  to  argue,  but  the  crowd 
would  not  be  reasoned  with.  An  hour  before  the  time 
for  opening  there  had  been  a stampede.  Then  men  at 
the  entrances  were  swept  from  their  posts  by  the  tide. 
The  overflow  waited  patiently  during  the  service,  and 
a small  fraction  of  it  was  able  to  get  inside  after  Mr. 
Moody  had  finished  his  sermon.” 

When  his  campaigns  for  the  year  were  over,  Mr. 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


97 


Moody  turned,  like  a boy  from  school,  to  his  old  home 
in  the  little  village  of  Northfield.  His  son  says: 
“ Nothing  was  more  characteristic  of  Mr.  Moody  than 
his  longing  for  retirement  in  the  country  from  the 
press  of  his  work.  Though  his  life-work  lay  for  the 
most  part  in  great  cities,  he  was  born  a country  lad,  and 
for  him  the  ‘ everlasting  hills  ’ possessed  a wealth  of 
meaning  and  a marvelous  recuperative  power.  Some 
instinct  drew  him  back  to  the  soil,  some  mysterious 
prompting  impelled  him  to  solitude,  away  from  the 
crowds  that  absorbed  so  much  of  his  strength;  then, 
after  a little  respite,  he  would  return  with  new 
strength  and  new  vitality.’’ 

One  day  not  long  after  Mr.  Moody  had  returned  to 
Northfield  to  live,  he  and  his  younger  brother  drove 
past  a lonely  cottage  on  one  of  the  mountain  roads, 
far  from  any  neighbor  or  town.  The  mother  and  two 
daughters  of  the  family  were  sitting  in  the  doorway 
braiding  the  straw  hats  by  the  sale  of  which  they 
supported  themselves  and  the  helpless  paralyzed  hus- 
band and  father.  The  father  was  an  educated  man, 
and  the  daughters  were  eager  for  an  opportunity  to 
learn  how  to  do  other  things  than  braiding  straw  hats, 
but  what  chance  was  there  for  them,  in  that  out-of-the- 
way  place,  to  go  to  school  ? Mr.  Moody  kept  thinking 
about  these  girls,  and  other  girls  like  them,  scattered 
through  the  hills  of  New  England,  and  talked  to  his 
friends  about  them,  until  in  1878  he  had  collected 
enough  money  to  purchase  land  for  a boarding-school 
where  girls  from  families  of  small  means  could  re- 


98 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


ceive  a thorough  Christian  education.  In  1879  a ci- 
tation hall  large  enough  to  accommodate  one  hundred 
students  was  built,  and  in  1880  ground  was  broken  for 
the  first  dormitory.  To-day  the  alumnae  of  North- 
field  Seminary  are  in  positions  of  influence  all  over 
the  world. 

Almost  before  the  work  at  Northfield  Seminary  was 
well  under  way,  Mr.  Moody  began  to  plan  for  a similar 
school  for  boys.  His  friends  responded  as  generously 
to  his  appeal  on  behalf  of  the  boys  as  they  had  to 
that  for  the  girls,  and  for  almost  thirty-five  years  the 
Mount  Hermon  School  has  meant  to  young  men  what 
Northfield  Seminary,  three  miles  away,  has  meant  to 
young  women.  In  Chicago  there  is  another  school 
established  by  Mr.  Moody,  and  bearing  his  name — the 
Moody  Bible  Institute. 

One  summer  soon  after  Mr.  Moody  began  his  evan- 
gelistic campaign  in  America,  he  invited  a group  of 
Christian  workers  to  come  to  Northfield  for  ten  days  of 
prayer  and  conference  together.  From  that  beginning 
thirty- five  years  ago  have  grown  the  six  big  Christian 
Conferences  which  every  summer  bring  together  at 
Northfield  men  and  women,  young  and  old,  from 
almost  every  part  of  the  world. 

In  November  of  1899,  Mr.  Moody  was  preaching 
every  day  to  great  throngs  of  men  and  women  who 
crowded  the  Convention  Hall  of  Kansas  City.  He 
had  never  preached  with  greater  power,  and  never 
seemed  more  joyous  in  his  work. 

“ I have  no  sympathy  with  the  idea  that  our  best 


ROUND  TOP 


A MAN  WITH  A MESSAGE 


99 


days  are  behind  us,”  he  declared  to  his  audience  one 
night,  and  chuckled  as  he  told  them  how  he  had  felt 
when  he  saw  in  the  newspapers  that  “ old  Moody  was 
in  town.” 

“ Why,”  he  said,  “ I am  only  sixty-two;  I am  only 
a baby  in  comparison  with  the  great  eternity  which 
is  to  come ! ” 

But  the  friends  who  were  watching  him  closely  saw 
that  he  seemed  ill,  and  that,  although  he  showed  no 
signs  of  weakness  while  he  was  preaching,  each  service 
left  him  more  exhausted  than  the  one  before.  Finally 
they  insisted  that  he  go  home,  and  reluctantly  he  left 
the  campaign  in  the  hands  of  others,  and  went  back 
to  his  boyhood  home  among  the  hills  of  Northfield. 
There,  on  the  day  after  Christmas,  they  laid  him  to  rest 
on  Round  Top,  in  the  heart  of  the  school  he  had 
founded,  on  the  hill  made  sacred  to  thousands  by  the 
“ Round  Top  meetings  ” of  the  conferences  he  had 
established. 

In  far-away  China,  a young  father  brought  his 
baby  son  to  the  missionary  for  baptism,  and  asked  that 
the  little  boy  be  given  the  name  “ Moo  Dee.”  The 
missionary  had  never  heard  a Chinese  name  like  that, 
and  after  the  baptism  questioned  the  father  about  its 
origin. 

“ I have  heard  of  your  man  of  God,  Moody,”  the 
father  told  him.  “ In  our  dialect  Moo  means  love,  and 
Dee , God.  I would  have  my  child,  too,  love  God.” 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


How  I long  to  live  a life  like  Christ’s,  full  of  sacrifice  and 


— 


LI  BI  CU 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


When  the  missionary  in  charge  of  the  Foochow  or- 
phanage opened  the  door  one  morning,  several  years 
ago,  she  found  a little  bundle  of  rags  lying  beside  it. 
Inside  the  rags  was  a wee  baby  girl,  whose  parents 
had  felt  that  the  burden  of  another  girl-child  was  too 
much  for  them  to  carry.  So  the  missionary  took  the 
baby  into  the  orphanage,  and  kept  her  there  until  she 
had  grown  up  into  a strong,  educated,  Christian 
young  woman.  Then  she  married  Mr.  Li,  a graduate 
of  the  theological  school  of  Foochow,  and  went  with 
him  into  a lonely  little  mountain  village,  where  there 
was  a tiny  Methodist  church.  While  they  were  work- 
ing in  this  village  their  first  child  was  born,  a baby 
girl,  little  Bi  Cu,  who  was  not  left  on  any  one  else’s 
doorstep,  but  was  welcomed  with  a feast  of  rejoicing 
to  which  all  the  church-members  were  invited ; for  she 
had  come  to  a Christian  home  where  baby  girls  were 
as  dearly  loved  as  little  sons. 

As  soon  as  Li  Bi  Cu  was  old  enough  she  was  sent 
to  the  boarding-school  for  girls  at  Hinghwa,  and 
while  she  was  there  did  such  good  work  that  her  mis- 
sionary friends  wished  that  she  might  have  a chance 
for  further  study.  So  when  Mrs.  Brewster  was  going 
back  to  America  on  her  furlough  she  wrote  to  friends 


IOI 


102 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


asking  whether  money  for  Li  Bi  Cu’s  education  could 
be  provided  if  she  were  to  bring  her  home  with  her. 
A cablegram  brought  the  answer,  “ Yes,”  and  when 
Mrs.  Brewster  landed  in  America  in  May  of  1897,  Li 
Bi  Cu  was  with  her. 

With  no  knowledge  of  the  English  language,  and 
very  little  preparation  in  the  subjects  which  were 
a prerequisite  to  the  medical  course  which  she  planned 
to  take,  Li  Bi  Cu  began  at  the  very  beginning  in  the 
primary  classes  of  the  public  school  at  Herkimer,  New 
York.  She  worked  untiringly,  through  term  time  and 
vacation  time,  and  took  the  two  years’  course  in  Folts 
Mission  Institute  after  leaving  the  public  school.  In 
the  autumn  of  1901,  four  years  after  her  arrival  in 
America,  she  was  ready  to  enter  the  Woman’s  Medi- 
cal College  of  Philadelphia.  The  work  here  was  not 
easy,  but  Li  Bi  Cu  was  a faithful  student.  Her  interne 
work  often  took  her  into  the  most  unpleasant  sections 
of  the  city,  where  it  was  hard  for  an  American  woman 
to  work,  and  doubly  so  for  a Chinese.  But  she  never 
shrank  from  any  test,  nor  asked  that  she  should  be 
treated  in  any  different  way  from  the  other  students 
because  of  the  disadvantages  under  which  she  worked 
as  a foreigner. 

While  in  the  medical  college  Li  Bi  Cu  came  in  con- 
tact with  the  type  of  student  who  refuses  to  believe 
anything  which  cannot  be  proved  by  a scientific  for- 
mula. Some  of  them  told  her  that  the  religion  which 
her  parents  and  the  missionaries  had  taught  her  was 
no  longer  believed  by  any  intelligent  person  in  Amer- 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


103 


ica,  but  was  simply  an  old  tradition  which  educated 
people  did  not  accept.  To  be  told  this  by  students 
who  had  been  born  and  brought  up  in  a Christian  coun- 
try was  a severe  trial  for  this  little  Chinese  girl,  so  far 
away  from  her  family  and  her  teachers.  But  she  faced 
her  struggle  quietly.  One  of  the  student  secretaries 
of  the  National  Young  Women’s  Christian  Association 
of  America  was  making  a visit  to  the  medical  college 
about  this  time,  and  to  her  Li  Bi  Cu  came  with  her 
story  of  what  some  of  the  students  had  been  saying 
to  her. 

“ Do  you  think  that  what  they  said  was  true  ? ” the 
secretary  asked  her. 

“ I thought  I would  wait  until  you  came,”  Li  Bi  Cu 
answered.  “ You  know  students.  You  will  tell  me 
the  truth.” 

“ But  what  did  you  think  about  it  yourself?  ” 

“ I thought,  I will  watch  those  students,”  Li  Bi  Cu 
replied.  “ I will  see  what  they  have  to  give  me  that 
my  missionaries  have  not  given  me.” 

“ And  what  did  you  find  ? ” 

“ They  have  nothing  to  give,”  was  Li  Bi  Cu’s  ver- 
dict. She  had  tested  her  faith  by  her  Master’s  own 
standard.  By  their  fruits  she  had  known. 

Dr.  Li  graduated  from  the  Woman’s  Medical  Col- 
lege with  high  honors  in  1905,  and  returned  to  China 
in  September  of  that  year.  Before  she  left  America 
she  was  received  by  President  Roosevelt,  who  extended 
special  courtesies  to  her,  and  talked  with  her  of  her 
plans  for  work  in  China.  She  treated  her  first  patient 


104 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


even  before  she  reached  the  coast;  for  on  the  way  to 
San  Francisco  the  train  on  which  she  was  traveling 
ran  over  a Russian  track  laborer,  seriously  injuring 
him.  He  was  carried  into  the  baggage  car,  and  there 
Dr.  Li  stopped  the  violent  hemorrhage  from  which 
he  was  suffering,  and  made  him  as  comfortable  as  pos- 
sible until  the  train  reached  a station  from  which  he 
could  be  taken  to  a hospital. 

Dr.  Li  had  been  away  from  China  for  over  eight 
years  wThen  she  returned,  and  the  joy  of  her  home- 
coming is  the  dominant  note  of  the  first  letter  sent 
back  to  America : 

“ I was  indeed  happy  when  the  little  steam  launch 
landed  at  Foochow.  My  father  came  about  eighteen 
miles  to  meet  me.  He  did  not  look  a day  older  to  me. 
Of  course  we  began  to  talk  our  native  language  at  once, 
but  my  tongue  would  not  twist  properly.  How  my 
father  did  laugh ! By  the  time  we  got  to  the  end  of  the 
eighteen  miles  I was  able  to  speak  a little  better.  My 
dear  mother  was  at  the  girls’  boarding-school  awaiting 
me.  She  stood  at  the  door  nearly  all  the  morning  wait- 
ing for  me.  I cannot  tell  you  how  I felt.  I only  knew 
I was  happy. 

“ I was  in  about  two  hours  when  many  people  came 
to  see  me,  for  Miss  Bonafield  had  planned  a reception 
for  me.  We  had  a lovely  time  together.  Several  of 
the  missionaries  sang  and  played.  I enjoyed  every 
part  except  the  part  I took.  They  asked  me  to  speak 
a few  words.  I do  not  think  I was  ever  so  frightened 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


105 


as  I was  at  that  time,  because  they  hardly  gave  me  time 
to  collect  my  thoughts. 

“ I spent  a week  in  Foochow  to  have  my  ancient 
style  changed.  I told  my  friends  that  it  is  a pity  we 
do  not  publish  a Delineator  in  China,  so  that  those  who 
return  from  other  countries  may  not  be  so  noticeable 
on  the  streets.” 

During  the  few  days  which  Dr.  Li  spent  in  Foochow 
she  not  only  had  her  “ ancient  style  changed  ” but  also 
improved  the  opportunity  of  visiting  the  hospitals  of 
the  city,  that  she  might  see  how  hospitals  in  the  climate 
of  southern  China  were  constructed  and  cared  for.  She 
and  her  parents  also  made  a visit  to  Ngu  Cheng,  a com- 
paratively new  station  of  the  mission,  where  it  was 
proposed  that  the  young  physician  should  carry  on 
medical  work.  There  she  was  greeted  enthusiastically 
by  the  firing  of  hundreds  of  firecrackers.  After  a 
short  stay,  which  was  however  long  enough  to  impress 
her  with  the  need  of  medical  work  there,  she  went  to 
Hinghwa.  Her  own  words  shall  tell  of  her  return  to 
her  home  city : 

“ We  had  a complete  family  reunion.  The  people 
there  met  me  with  banners,  firecrackers,  and  music.  I 
felt  very  strange  to  have  such  a demonstration.  I 
had  hoped  to  get  into  the  city  quietly,  but  I could  not 
help  it.  There  was  a very  large  crowd  because  the 
Hinghwa  Conference  was  in  session.  My  dear  brothers 
and  sisters  have  grown  much.  My  youngest  sister, 
whom  I have  never  seen,  went  about  a mile  with  others 
to  meet  me.  As  soon  as  she  saw  me  she  ran  to  meet 


io6 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


me  and  came  into  my  [sedan]  chair.  She  is  only  five 
years  old,  and  she  is  just  as  sweet  as  she  can  be.  My 
oldest  brother  prepared  a feast  for  us,  so  we  had  a very 
happy  reunion.” 

After  eight  years’  absence  from  her  native  land,  Dr. 
Li  found  that  she  had  almost  forgotten  how  much 
need  there  was.  Had  she  needed  a further  incentive 
to  her  work  as  a physician,  the  constant  appeal  made  to 
her  sympathetic  heart  by  the  suffering  all  about  her 
would  have  supplied  it. 

“ Oh,  dear  Mrs.  S she  wrote  to  a friend,  a 

few  weeks  after  her  return,  “ I did  not  know  half  about 
China  when  I was  in  America.  The  condition  is  worse 
than  I thought.”  In  another  letter  written  about  the 
same  time,  she  said,  “ I cannot  tell  you  how  I felt  when 
I stepped  into  a sedan-chair.  I was  so  sad  and  so  sorry 
for  my  fellow  men  who  had  to  carry  me.  I wished  I 
were  only  ten  pounds  then,  so  that  they  might  not  have 
to  carry  such  a load.  The  streets  seem  narrower  than 
when  I left  home,  but  I suppose  it  is  because  I have 
seen  wider  ones  and  cleaner  ones  since.  I never  saw 
so  many  people  on  the  streets  as  I saw  in  Foochow. 
That  day  I saw  a blind  woman  and  a child  who  were 
leading  each  other.  How  my  heart  ached  for  them. 
They  were  begging  at  every  store,  but  they  were  being 
knocked  about  by  the  crowd.” 

Dr.  Li  was  appointed  to  Ngu  Cheng  at  the  Hinghwa 
Conference,  and  after  a very  brief  stay  with  the  family 
from  which  she  had  been  so  long  separated,  she  eagerly 
began  her  work  there.  “ My  stay  at  home  is  short,” 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


107 


she  admitted,  “ but  I feel  that  I must  go  and  see  about 
the  building  at  once.  The  people  will  be  glad  to  work 
until  Chinese  New  Year,  then  they  will  want  to  stop, 
so  I can  come  home  and  visit  with  my  people  at  that 
time.” 

One  of  her  letters  gives  a glimpse  of  her  impres- 
sions of  Ngu  Cheng:  “ Ngu  Cheng  is  not  very  large 
itself,  but  there  are  numberless  villages  within  our 
reach.  The  place  is  near  the  ocean  and  therefore  very 
windy.  The  hills  are  destitute  of  trees,  but  there  are 
many  huge  rocks.  The  fields  are  wide  and  very 
abundant,  but  the  earth  is  not  fertile,  so  they  do  not 
give  good  increase,  consequently  the  people  are  miser- 
ably poor.  These  people  have  very  little  education  of 
any  kind,  most  of  them  have  none.” 

Dr.  Li  rented  a Chinese  house  to  serve  until  the 
new  hospital  building  could  be  erected,  and  began 
work  at  once.  Ngu  Cheng  was  not  an  easy 
place  in  which  to  work.  The  missionary  work 
was  comparatively  new;  the  city  was  too  far 
away  from  any  large  center  to  have  been  touched 
and  enlightened  by  foreign  influence ; and  the 
poverty  and  ignorance  of  the  people  made  work  for 
them  very  difficult.  In  her  first  annual  report  Dr.  Li 
admitted : “ When  I first  came  there  was  cause  for 

discouragement ; for  there  were  few  patients  and  they 
expected  to  be  healed  after  the  first  dose.  When  called 
to  their  homes  one  is  sure  to  see  a dying  case,  or  one 
which  is  given  up  as  hopeless  by  their  own  doctors.” 
Yet  she  soon  gained  the  confidence  of  the  people,  and 


io8  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

in  her  first  five  months  of  work  eight  hundred  patients 
were  treated. 

For  her  first  year’s  work  she  reported  2,905  patients 
in  the  dispensary,  143  visits,  and  150  ward  patients, 
with  one  death  in  the  hospital,  that  of  a child  who 
was  in  the  last  stages  of  disease  and  exhaustion  when 
brought  there.  “ This  is  only  the  experimental  year,” 
she  said,  “ so  I hope  next  year  the  work  will  be  more 
successful.”  But  the  verdict  of  her  coworkers  was : 
“ Her  fitness  and  adaptability  are  a delight  to  her  mis- 
sionary friends,  while  they  greatly  rejoice  over  her 
influence  in  evangelistic  efforts.” 

Of  this  phase  of  her  work  Dr.  Li  wrote  <at  this  time : 
“ The  hospital  patients  have  a very  good  opportunity  to 
learn  about  Christ.  Many  of  them  have  come  to  believe 
in  our  God,  and  have  destroyed  the  idols.  Several  of 
the  patients  have  unbound  their  feet.  If  there  were 
more  rooms  I could  have  taken  many  more.  I had 
to  send  away  some  patients  at  times,  because  the  hos- 
pital was  too  crowded.  Two  whole  families  were 
brought  to  Christ  as  the  result  of  our  out  calls.” 

Dr.  Li’s  new  hospital  building  was  completed  dur- 
ing the  summer  of  1907,  and  the  dispensary  was  moved 
into  it  in  August.  “ It  was  astonishing  to  see  how 
quickly  the  news  spread,”  Dr.  Li  reported.  “ The  first 
few  days  there  were  over  thirty  cases  daily,  and  since 
then  hardly  ever  less  than  twenty.  I wish  you  could 
see  the  surprised  look  of  the  many  people  who  pass  in 
and  out  each  day.  They  say,  ‘ This  is  heaven ! ’ Poor 
people ! It  must  be  a heaven  in  contrast  with  their  own 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


109 


surroundings.  Many  have  said,  ‘ Just  to  live  in  these 
rooms  is  enough  to  make  one  well,  without  any  medi- 
cine.’ ” 

In  another  letter,  written  at  about  the  same  time, 
she  says : “ We  had  a hard  time  to  keep  the  crowd  out 
until  we  were  ready  to  show  them  the  house.  They 
said  the  foreigners  must  be  very  rich  to  build  such  a 
house  for  the  sick.  They  have  never  seen  so  many 
pretty  things  before,  and  most  of  them  have  only  one 
set  of  new  bedding  all  their  lives,  and  that  is  when 
they  are  married.  One  of  our  rules  is  that  every 
one  must  take  a bath  before  getting  into  bed.  I thought 
every  one  would  object  to  such  procedure,  but  very 
few  objected  to  it.  Before  they  came  they  were  afraid 
of  getting  lonely  here,  but  most  of  them  hated  to 
leave  us.” 

The  interest  which  the  people  took  in  the  work  of  the 
hospital  was  a great  joy  to  Dr.  Li,  and  she  especially 
appreciated  the  gift  which  the  preachers  and  teachers 
of  Ngu  Cheng  made  toward  the  furnishings  of  the 
building.  “ The  preachers  and  teachers  are  very  en- 
thusiastic, and  not  long  ago  took  up  a collection  for 
the  hospital,”  a letter  reads.  “ What  do  you  suppose 
was  the  amount?  They  gave  $254  Mexican;1  and  it 
was  not  so  much  the  money  they  gave,  although  it  was 
more  than  I expected,  but  the  spirit  of  it.  It  was  a 
free-will  offering.  It  is  a great  deal  for  them  to  give ; 
as  the  preachers  get  only  $5  Mexican  a month,  and  the 
teachers  one  dollar  less.  Since  everything  is  going  up 
1The  Mexican  dollar  has  a value  of  about  forty-four  cents. 


no 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


in  price,  they  have  to  deny  themselves  a great  deal  to 
give.” 

The  thirtieth  of  October,  1907,  was  the  day  set  for 
the  dedication  of  the  new  building.  Dr.  Li  shall  tell 
the  story  of  the  day’s  exercises : “ In  the  morning  of 
that  eventful  day  about  twelve  preachers  came  with 
music,  firecrackers,  banner,  and  a large  tablet.  The 
border  of  the  tablet  is  green  and  gilt,  and  the  center  is 
painted  red  with  four  large  gold  characters  in  it.  The 
characters  mean  ‘ Life  to  Men  and  Charity  to  the 
World.’  They  hung  that  on  our  chapel  wall.  We 
invited  them  to  our  dining-room  to  take  tea  and  four 
kinds  of  Chinese  cake.  They  seemed  to  enjoy  it  very 
much.  They  admired  our  beautiful  hospital,  and  they 
said  it  is  the  best  building  in  the  village.  The  formal 
dedication  took  place  in  the  afternoon.  We  began  the 
services  with  a grand  song.  After  another  song  by  the 
girls,  Mrs.  Bashford  gave  a very  inspiring  address. 
Bishop  Bashford  gave  a little  address,  followed  by  the 
sacred  service.  How  fervently  did  the  bishop  pray  for 
this  place.”  And  the  young  physician  added : “ While 
the  bishop  was  dedicating  the  house  to  God,  I dedicated 
my  life  anew.  How  I do  long  to  live  a life  like  Christ’s, 
full  of  sacrifice  and  love.” 

With  her  splendid  new  hospital  as  a center  Dr.  Li 
is  carrying  on  a sorely-needed  and  ever-growing  work. 
The  waiting-room  in  her  dispensary  is  usually  crowded, 
her  hospital  wards  almost  always  full,  the  calls  from 
patients  too  ill  to  come  to  her  are  constant.  The 
growth  of  the  work  soon  made  it  necessary  for  Dr. 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


hi 


Li  to  have  help,  and  in  addition  to  the  care  of  her  pa- 
tients she  has  undertaken  the  responsibility  of  training 
nurses  to  work  with  her.  Whenever  the  pressure  of 
the  work  in  Ngu  Cheng  will  permit  it,  she  goes  out 
into  the  near-by  country  to  try  to  help  the  sick  folk  in 
the  villages  and  towns  where  there  are  no  doctors. 
“ We  were  very  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  spend  more 
than  a day  in  a place,”  she  wrote  after  one  of  these 
trips.  “ So  many  of  the  people  had  to  be  sent  away. 
If  we  could  have  stayed  longer  we  could  have  seen 
more  than  a thousand;  as  it  was  we  saw  about  seven 
hundred  patients.  It  was  hard  to  realize  how  many 
suffering  ones  there  are  whose  sufferings  are  never  re- 
lieved. Many  of  those  whom  we  treated  ought  to  come 
to  our  hospital,  but  they  cannot  afford  to  hire  chairs 
to  bring  them.” 

Dr.  Li’s  constant  contact  with  disease  and  poverty 
has  never  rendered  her  in  the  least  callous  to  them. 
Her  recent  letters  are  as  full  of  expressions  of  pain  at 
the  suffering  all  about  her  as  were  the  early  ones  when, 
after  her  long  stay  in  America,  the  misery  of  life  in  a 
non-Christian  country  came  to  her  with  almost  as  much 
vividness  as  if  she  had  never  seen  it  before.  The  most 
helpless  and  hopeless  people  always  make  the  strongest 
appeal  to  her.  One  day  some  beggars  came  to  her  dis- 
pensary door,  with  a little  blind  girl  about  eight  years 
old,  whom  they  were  taking  about  with  them  in  order 
to  rouse  people’s  sympathy  and  induce  them  to  give. 
“ When  I saw  this  little  child,”  Dr.  Li  wrote  to  a 
friend,  “ and  saw  that  her  eyes  were  beyond  help,  I 


112 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


made  up  my  mind  to  buy  her.  At  first  they  were  not 
willing  to  sell  her,  but  finally  they  were  willing.”  At 
the  time  of  the  annual  conference  Dr.  Li  took  the  little 
girl  with  her  to  Foochow,  and  put  her  in  the  mission 
school  for  blind  children,  hoping  that  there  she  would 
forget  the  wretchedness  of  the  bitterly  hard  life  she 
had  been  leading. 

In  1912  Dr.  Li  was  appointed  an  official  representa- 
tive of  the  Foochow  Conference  to  the  General  Con- 
ference of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  which  was 
held  in  Minneapolis.  It  was  the  first  time  a Chinese 
woman  had  ever  crossed  the  ocean  as  a delegate  to  the 
General  Conference,  and  Dr.  Li’s  father,  who  was  the 
delegate  from  the  Hinghwa  Conference,  was  im- 
mensely proud  of  the  splendid  impression  his  daugh- 
ter made.  The  two  spoke  at  the  same  session  of  the 
Conference,  the  daughter  pleading  especially  for  the 
women  of  her  country.  “ I do  want  to  leave  a message 
with  you  all  this  morning,”  she  said,  “ I think  you  know 
that  the  womanhood  of  China  has  been  very  low  for 
several  thousand  years,  and  therefore,  now  that  the  new 
republic  is  going  to  be  formed,  we  want  to  have  the 
womanhood  of  China  lifted  up  as  high  as  the  woman- 
hood of  your  nation.  I think  that  no  nation  can  help 
the  women  of  China  as  the  United  States  through  the 
work  of  missionaries  in  China ; so  now  I want  to  ask 
you  that,  when  you  go  home,  you  talk  to  the  women 
in  your  churches  and  ask  them  to  send  more  mission- 
aries to  China  to  help  us  lift  the  womanhood  of  China 
so  that  before  long  the  two  great  republics  will  unite 


A BELOVED  PHYSICIAN 


ii  3 

together  in  this  work  and  be  a power  for  Jesus  Christ 
to  elevate  the  womanhood  of  the  world.,, 

During  this  second  stay  in  America  Dr.  Li  told  the 
story  of  her  people  and  their  need  to  a great  many 
audiences,  and  then  went  back  to  help  to  meet  that  need 
with  renewed  strength  and  energy.  Her  life-work 
for  these  people  has  only  begun,  but  surely  it  is 
a splendid  beginning.  She  has  treated  thousands  of 
patients  during  every  year  of  her  work,  and  has  been 
successful  in  dealing  with  the  most  difficult  cases.  Nor 
has  she  ever  lost  her  courage  and  enthusiasm,  though 
there  have  been  difficulties  in  the  work  at  Ngu  Cheng 
which  many  medical  missionaries  in  other  stations 
have  not  had  to  meet. 

When  Dr.  Li  went  there  the  people  had  been  almost 
untouched  by  foreign  influences  of  any  sort,  and  were 
suspicious  of  all  things  foreign.  This  difficulty  she  is 
rapidly  overcoming,  for  her  loving  desire  to  help  them 
and  her  skill  in  doing  so  have  won  their  confidence. 
Their  poverty,  while  making  their  need  all  the  greater, 
has  added  to  the  difficulties  of  the  work;  for  disease 
is  hard  to  conquer  when  it  has  to  be  combated  in 
houses  the  squalor  and  unhygienic  conditions  of  which 
beggar  description.  Moreover,  the  patients  cannot 
afford  to  buy  the  nourishing  food  needed  to  build  up 
strength.  Yet  Dr.  Li  has  relieved  and  cured  hosts 
of  sufferers  yearly  and  her  well-cared-for  hospital  is  a 
constant  object-lesson. 

Those  whose  whole  energy  is  spent  in  a struggle  just 
to  live  have  no  time  for  education,  and  little  interest  in 


ii4  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

anything  outside  of  their  own  immediate  needs.  With 
all  the  devotion  with  which  she  is  pouring  out  her  life 
for  them,  the  young  physician  can  hardly  find  real 
companionship  among  the  people  of  Ngu  Cheng,  and 
must  have  been  hungry  many  times  for  the  opportuni- 
ties of  social  intercourse  which  workers  in  more  central 
places  enjoy.  “It  is  hard  to  get  any  one  to  come  to 
help  us  in  this  country  place.  Our  girls  love  pleasures 
when  they  have  any  education  at  all.  They  do  not  like 
to  come  here  where  they  do  not  see  anything  new.  In 
Foochow  there  are  lectures  on  reforms  and  other  things 
of  interest  that  they  can  go  to  hear.  Here  we  have 
never  heard  a lecture  these  four  years.”  But  she  has 
never  turned  back  for  discouragement  or  loneliness. 
“ Nevertheless  these  people  must  be  saved  too,”  she 
says. 

Her  eight  years  in  America  may  well  have  taught  her 
to  appreciate  the  advantages  which  life  in  a large  city 
affords,  even  more  keenly  than  do  the  girls  who  have 
had  a less  broad  outlook.  Yet  she  is  cheerfully  and 
whole-heartedly  giving  her  life,  and  all  the  powers 
which  her  opportunities  for  study  and  travel  have  given 
her,  to  the  needy  people  in  and  about  Ngu  Cheng, 
counting  it  a joy  and  blessed  opportunity  thus  to  follow 
in  the  footsteps  of  him  who  came  not  to  be  ministered 
unto,  but  to  minister. 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


When  men  are  regenerated  of  the  spirit,  . . . live  in  families 
under  divine  ordinance,  there  is  salvation  for  the  man,  the  family, 
the  tribe,  the  race. 


— Thomas  Crosby. 


■ 

: 

i 


■ 


' 


./ 


THOMAS  CROSBY 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


When  the  Hudson  Bay  Company’s  little  steamer 
Otter  left  the  port  of  Bella  Bella  on  a certain  journey 
up  the  north  coast  of  the  Pacific,  some  forty  years 
and  more  ago,  a stout  little  Indian  canoe  was  bob- 
bing dizzily  up  and  down  in  its  wake.  Nobody 
seemed  to  know  why  the  empty  canoe  was  being  towed 
by  the  Otter,  and  even  the  questions  of  one  of  the 
only  two  cabin  passengers  which  the  little  steamer 
boasted  succeeded  merely  in  getting  the  twinkling- 
eyed old  captain  to  remark,  “ You  take  care  of  your 
good  wife  and  you  will  find  out  soon  enough  what 
the  canoe  is  for.”  When  Chatham  Sound  was  reached 
the  curious  one  did  find  out;  for  the  Otter  slowed 
down,  the  canoe  was  drawn  up  alongside,  and  he  and 
his  young  wife,  with  an  old  Indian  woman  who  was 
to  act  as  steersman,  were  lowered  into  it,  and  told 
that  steady  paddling  would  soon  cover  the  eight  or 
ten  miles  of  water  between  them  and  Fort  Simpson.1 
Thus,  amid  the  cheers  and  good  wishes  of  captain 
and  crew  and  the  kindly  miners  who  had  been  their 
fellow  travelers  on  the  Otter,  Thomas  Crosby  and  his 
bride  paddled  into  the  big  Indian  village  of  Fort  Simp- 
son, where  they  were  to  start  a Christian  mission. 

When,  less  than  a week  later,  the  Otter  passed  Fort 
JOn  the  British  Columbia  coast. 


n6  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

Simpson  again  on  its  journey  back  to  Victoria,  the 
captain  was  given  an  order  for  the  lumber  needed  for 
a church  building  for  the  new  mission.  The  first 
thing  Thomas  Crosby  had  done  was  to  call  a meet- 
ing of  all  the  Indians  in  the  house  of  Chief  Scow- 
Gate.  There,  speaking  through  an  interpreter,  he 
had  told  them  that  he  and  his  wife  had  come  to  live 
among  them,  to  preach  the  gospel,  and  to  teach  them, 
and  that  the  first  thing  needed  was  a church  building 
in  which  they  could  all  come  together.  What  could 
they  give  toward  the  new  church,  he  asked?  The 
minute  he  finished  speaking  his  audience  arose  almost 
in  a body  and  departed  in  haste. 

This  unexpected  result  of  his  first  speech  to  his 
people  was  not  a little  disconcerting  to  the  young 
missionary,  but  his  interpreter  assured  him  that  he 
thought  they  would  soon  come  back,  and  presently 
they  did,  laden  with  Hudson  Bay  trading  blankets, 
furs,  muskets — anything  which  could  be  turned  into 
money  for  the  new  church.  With  some  help  from  the 
little  company  of  white  people  who  lived  at  Fort 
Simpson  the  subscriptions  amounted  to  a thousand 
dollars.  But  money  was  not  all  the  Indians  of  Fort 
Simpson  gave  for  their  new  church.  While  they 
waited  for  the  schooner  which  was  bringing  the  logs, 
they  were  busy  clearing  the  ground,  and  going  into 
the  woods  to  get  timber.  There  was  no  wharf  at  Fort 
Simpson,  and  when  at  last  the  logs  came,  it  was  no 
small  task  to  get  them  to  land,  for  they  had  to  be 
thrown  overboard,  rafted  alongside  the  ship,  and 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER  117 

towed  ashore.  Then,  when  they  were  at  last  on  land, 
there  were  no  horses  or  oxen  to  drag  them  up  the 
hill,  but  each  heavy,  water-soaked  log  had  to  be  car- 
ried on  men’s  shoulders.  It  was  the  Indians  too,  who, 
under  the  missionaries’  direction,  hewed  the  logs  and 
whipsawed  them  and  turned  them  into  shingles.  Small 
wonder  that  they  loved  the  little  church  with  its 
upward-pointing  spire,  and  that  they  turned  literally 
by  the  hundreds,  men,  women,  and  little  children,  to 
the  God  for  whose  worship  they  had  erected  it.  And, 
when  Sundays  found  them  far  away  from  their  little 
church  home,  they  did  not  forget  its  services.  Two  or 
three  times  a Sunday,  when  they  were  off  in  fishing 
or  logging  camps,  they  would  gather  together  for 
service,  using  some  of  the  Bible  texts  which  they  had 
memorized,  and  as  much  of  the  sermons  connected 
with  them  as  they  could  remember.  One  little  group 
of  shipwrecked  Indians,  clinging  to  a precarious  raft 
of  the  thwarts  and  withes  of  a broken  canoe,  held 
three  services  on  Sunday  even  as  they  were  making 
desperate  efforts,  with  one  paddle  and  a broken  oar, 
to  get  to  land.  “ The  eyes  of  the  Lord  are  in  every 
place,”  was  one  of  the  texts  in  which  the  little  ship- 
wrecked band  found  comfort  and  courage. 

The  church  and  the  mission  house  which  the  In- 
dians had  helped  to  build  led,  as  Mr.  Crosby  had 
hoped  they  would,  to  a realization  of  the  squalor  and 
discomfort  of  the  old  one-roomed,  mud-floored,  win- 
dowless  lodges,  in  which  four  and  five  Indian  families 
were  herded  together.  Many  of  the  Christian  Indians 


n8 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


at  once  began  to  save  all  that  they  could  spare  from 
their  scanty  earnings  in  order  to  build  little  separate 
houses  of  three  or  four  rooms  each.  The  missionary 
helped  them  to  measure  plots  of  land  and  to  draw 
up  plans  for  their  new  homes,  and  then  taught  them 
how  to  build  them  from  the  first  foundation-stone  to 
the  last  shingle  on  the  roof.  As  the  neat  little  houses 
went  up  one  after  another  the  irregular  ill-kept  trails 
which  were  Fort  Simpson’s  only  thoroughfares  began 
to  seem  as  unsatisfactory  as  the  old  lodges,  and  here 
again  Thomas  Crosby  came  to  the  rescue.  He  showed 
the  Indians  how  to  lay  out  and  build  good  roads;  and 
under  his  direction,  too,  they  put  up  the  bridges  which 
had  long  been  needed.  In  an  almost  unbelievably 
short  time  after  the  little  canoe  had  landed  Thomas 
Crosby  and  his  wife  in  Fort  Simpson  it  was  trans- 
formed from  an  unsightly  and  uncleanly  village  into 
a neat  and  orderly  little  town  of  attractive  homes. 
Crosby  enlisted  some  of  the  surplus  energy  of  the 
young  men  in  a fire  company,  which  became  expert 
in  bucket  and  hook-and-ladder  drills  and  rendered 
valiant  service  whenever  fire  threatened  any  of  the 
new  buildings.  Fort  Simpson  soon  boasted  a brass 
band  also,  which  added  much  to  all  public  affairs, 
and  a rifle  company,  whose  drills  and  parades  were 
the  pride  of  the  town.  Perhaps  the  thing  which  de- 
lighted Fort  Simpson  most,  however,  was  the  fact 
that  it  was  the  first  town  on  the  northern  Pacific 
coast  to  publish  a newspaper.  Thomas  Crosby  taught 
his  Indians  how  to  print,  and  the  Simpson  Herald 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


1 19 

appeared  even  before  Sheldon  Jackson’s  North  Star. 

Crosby  was  very  eager  to  foster  the  interest  of  the 
Indians  in  all  their  accomplishments  both  old  and 
new,  and  within  a year  after  his  arrival  at  Fort 
Simpson  he  instituted  an  industrial  fair.  Only  a 
month  was  given  for  preparation,  but  beadwork,  carv- 
ings, drawings,  paintings,  needlework,  and  food- 
stuffs of  various  kinds  came  pouring  in  from  all  di- 
rections, and  sixty  prizes  were  awarded.  Among  the 
most  interesting  exhibits  of  this  first  of  several  in- 
dustrial fairs  were  some  little  carved  models  of  a 
steamboat,  a European  house,  and  an  old-style  Indian 
house.  One  of  the  features  of  the  industrial  fair  in  which 
the  people  took  special  pride  was  a class  of  small 
Indians  who  spelled  word  after  word  without  making 
a single  mistake,  and  rattled  off  the  multiplication 
tables  with  breath-taking  rapidity. 

Fort  Simpson  was  a village  of  about  a thousand 
people,  and  inevitably  there  were  a thousand  little 
difficulties  arising  constantly,  but  there  was  no  justice 
of  the  peace  nor  any  central  council  before  which 
disputes  could  be  brought  for  settlement.  With  char- 
acteristic faith  and  courage  Thomas  Crosby  called  to- 
gether the  chiefs  of  the  village  and  proposed  that  a 
municipal  council  should  be  organized,  its  duties  be- 
ing to  make  and  enforce  the  laws  of  the  little  com- 
munity. The  idea  appealed  to  the  Indians  at  once, 
and  a council  of  twenty  was  elected.  Thomas  Crosby 
had  exhorted  them  to  choose  the  strongest  and  most 
influential  men  of  the  village  to  membership  in  this 


120 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


council,  although  he  knew  that  on  that  basis  several 
of  the  leading  gamblers,  the  worst  conjurers,  and 
the  fierce  “ dog-eaters  ” would  be  given  seats  in  the 
little  law-making  body.  It  was  a motley  company  of 
men  that  came  together  to  make  Fort  Simpson’s  first 
laws.  The  meeting  was  opened  with  prayer,  as  all 
subsequent  meetings  were;  and  then  on  the  motion  of 
a former  conjurer  a law  was  enacted  forbidding  gam- 
bling within  the  precincts  of  Fort  Simpson.  Next,  a 
leading  gambler  proposed  a law  forbidding  all  con- 
juring. Other  laws  were  passed  in  swift  succession, 
one  forbidding  whisky-drinking,  one  providing 
against  the  breaking  of  the  Sabbath,  and  others  di- 
rected against  fighting,  heathen  marriages,  and  other 
evils.  All  these  revolutionary  laws  were  inscribed  in 
a big  book,  and  the  punishments  or  fines  to  be  inflicted 
on  those  who  violated  them  were  set  down  after  each. 

The  council  proved  to  be  quite  as  efficient  at  en- 
forcing the  laws  as  at  making  them.  It  appointed 
watchmen  to  see  that  its  mandates  were  obeyed,  in- 
flicted summary  punishment  on  any  who  broke  them, 
and  in  a very  short  time  no  more  peaceful  or  law- 
abiding  community  than  Fort  Simpson  could  be 
found.  A flag  was  hoisted  every  Sunday  to  remind 
both  villagers  and  strangers  that  it  was  a day  of  rest 
and  worship,  when  no  canoes  might  either  come  in 
or  go  out  unless  in  case  of  sickness  or  other  danger. 
The  Indians  of  Fort  Simpson  could  never  be  per- 
suaded to  do  anything  which  was  contrary  to  their 
convictions  regarding  what  was  right  on  Sunday, 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


121 


even  when  they  were  at  the  mines  or  salmon  can- 
neries far  away  from  the  laws  of  their  village  and 
under  severe  pressure  to  do  Sunday  work.  A com- 
pany of  white  men  from  the  Cassiar  mines  once 
brought  this  report  to  Fort  Simpson. 

“ A number  of  your  Indian  boys  last  spring  showed 
us  that  men  can  do  more  work  in  six  days  than  they 
can  in  seven.  When  we  were  leaving  Fort  Wrangel 
we  engaged  a party  of  your  Christian  Indians  to 
take  us  to  the  mines;  another  crowd  of  miners  who 
were  going  engaged  a crew  of  heathen  Indians. 
They  started  out  before  we  did.  We  soon  passed 
them;  and,  when  it  came  to  Saturday  afternoon  our 
crew  looked  out  about  four  o’clock  for  a good  camp- 
ing-place. Some  of  our  white  men  urged  them  to  go 
on.  They  said,  ‘ No,  we  are  going  to  camp  here  for 
the  Sabbath ! ’ When  they  saw  good  camping- 
ground,  they  got  ashore,  chopped  wood,  and  pre- 
pared for  the  Sabbath  morning.  Early  they  had  a 
prayer-meeting;  at  eleven  o’clock  they  had  preach- 
ing; each  man  had  his  Bible  with  him,  and  they  had 
a Bible  class  afterward.  They  had  service  in  the 
evening  also.  During  the  day,  about  noon,  the  other 
party  came  along,  tugging  and  working  all  day,  and 
they  hissed  and  cursed  at  us  as  they  passed,  calling  us 
Sabbatarians.  Our  boys  retired  early  for  rest  and 
were  up  bright  and  early  the  next  morning.  The  fire 
was  soon  going,  we  had  breakfast  and  off  we  started; 
and  how  all  those  boys  did  work!  It  was  not  long 
before  we  passed  the  fellows  who  had  worked  all  day 


122 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


on  Sunday,  and  we  were  in  the  mines  a day  ahead  of 
them,  clearly  proving  to  us  that  men  who  regard  the 
Sabbath  can  do  more  work  in  six  days  than  others 
can  in  seven/’ 

The  fame  of  quiet,  orderly,  well-governed  Fort 
Simpson  spread  all  along  the  coast,  and  other  In- 
dians who  came  there  to  trade  had  unbounded  faith 
in  the  big  missionary  whose  suggestions  and  council 
had  wrought  such  changes.  One  spring  a company 
of  the  Cape  Fox  Indians,  who  had  come  to  bring 
their  fur  pelts  to  the  Hudson  Bay  Company’s  stores 
at  the  Fort,  arrived  in  town  at  the  same  time  as  a 
company  of  Hyda  Indians  of  Queen  Charlotte 
Islands,  who  had  brought  some  new  canoes  to  sell. 
Now  the  Hydas  had  long  been  the  vikings  of  the 
northern  Pacific  coast  and  the  terror  of  all  the  other 
tribes.  No  one  knew  when  a party  of  them  might 
swoop  down  in  the  enormous  canoes  which  they 
alone  knew  how  to  make,  rob  a village,  seize  many 
of  the  inhabitants  as  slaves,  and  be  off  again  with 
lightning-like  swiftness  into  waters  where  ordi- 
nary canoes  could  not  follow.  The  Cape  Fox  Indians 
had  suffered  much  at  their  hands,  and  when  their  old 
chief  Kah-shakes  found  that  some  of  them  were  at 
Fort  Simpson  he  came  to  Mr.  Crosby  with  a much 
troubled  face. 

“ Han-kow,  Han-kow  (Chief,  Chief,”)  he  began, 
“ I would  like  to  speak  to  you,  sir.  You  are  the  great 
chief  who  has  brought  peace  all  along  this  coast;  and 
I wish  you,  the  great  peace  chief,  would  help  us.  You, 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


125 


sir,  have  seen  these  Hydas  come  here.  There  are  some 
in  town  now  and  there  is  a great  han-kow  in  the 
village  from  Queen  Charlotte  Islands.  Nin-jing-wash 
is  his  name.  I always  feel  when  I see  him  that  I 
should  like  to  kill  him.  I feel  angry  at  him ; and  so  I 
came  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  I hope  you  will  make  peace 
between  us.  It  has  been  a long  trouble.  If  you  will 
call  him  up  to  your  house  I will  speak  to  him  and  tell 
him  my  heart;  I can’t  speak  to  him  on  the  street.  I 
want  to  speak  to  him  in  your  presence,  sir.  Call  him 
quickly,  Han-kow ! ” 

Nin-jing-wash  was  sent  for,  and  old  Kah-shakes 
told  him  that  he  did  not  wish  to  be  angry,  that  the  mis- 
sionaries had  brought  the  light  so  near  them  that  they 
ought  to  be  at  peace.  But,  he  said,  there  had  been 
trouble  between  his  people  and  the  Hydas  for  many 
years,  and  the  Hydas  had  taken  at  least  one  of  the 
Cape  Fox  people,  a very  great  chief,  for  whom  no 
atonement  had  ever  been  made.  Would  Nin-jing-wash 
agree  to  have  this  matter  presented  to  the  missionary 
and  a council  of  Christian  men,  that  a right  and  just 
decision  might  be  reached?  Nin-jing-wash  answered 
that  he  was  the  only  Hyda  chief  then  at  Fort  Simpson, 
but  that  he  would  go  home  and  bring  other  chiefs  and 
come  back  in  six  weeks;  let  Kah-shakes  do  the  same. 
Kah-shakes  agreed  to  this,  and  both  Indians  “ put  their 
marks  ” to  an  agreement  that  the  decision  of  the 
Christian  council  should  be  final. 

Six  weeks  later  nine  Hyda  chiefs,  Kah-shakes  and 
several  of  his  people,  and  Thomas  Crosby  and  six 


124 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


Christian  Indians  met  together  in  solemn  council. 
The  meeting  was  opened  with  prayer,  and  then,  after 
a brief  word  of  explanation  and  introduction  by  Mr. 
Crosby,  Nin-jing-wash  rose  to  his  feet  and  declared 
that  all  the  trouble  had  been  started  by  the  Cape  Fox 
people  many  years  ago.  Then  old  Kah-shakes  got 
up  and  said : “ I have  not  a bad  heart  or  I should  not 
have  come  to  this  God’s  servant  to  make  peace.  If  I 
had  not  a good  heart,  I should  have  thought  over  the 
bad  and  have  gone  away  and  done  something  bad 
another  time.” 

The  council  was  now  well  started,  and  for  two 
days  one  chief  after  another  told  tales  of  bloody  con- 
flict and  butchery  of  men,  women,  and  helpless  chil- 
dren, until  sometimes  feeling  rose  to  such  a pitch  that 
it  seemed  as  if  another  battle  would  be  fought  there 
in  the  mission  house.  “ I did  not  rest  much  those  two 
nights,”  Thomas  Crosby  says,  “ and  sometimes  when 
the  chiefs  told  their  heartrending  stories  of  terrible 
conflicts  and  how  their  people  were  savagely  slain, 
I would  rise  to  say  a word  to  quell  their  rage  or  sit  and 
lift  my  heart  to  God  for  help.  Much  prayer  was  made 
among  our  fellow  Christians  of  the  village  during  those 
days,  and  it  was  a real  comfort  to  see  how  much  they 
were  interested  in  making  peace  between  these  once 
great  nations  of  proud  people.” 

Finally  the  council  decreed  that  the  Hydas  should 
pay  the  Foxes  fifty  blankets,  but  Thomas  Crosby 
urged  them  to  obey  not  only  the  old  Indian  custom 
of  payment,  but  the  Christian  law  of  free  forgiveness. 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


125 


Then  Nin-jing-wash,  on  behalf  of  the  Hydas  rose  to 
his  feet  and  said,  “ My  chiefs  and  I are  willing  to 
do  what  the  good  missionary  chief  says.”  Next  rose 
old  Kah-shakes,  and  with  the  words,  “ Do  you  think 
my  heart  can  be  bought  with  a few  blankets  ? ” took 
off  a fine  new  overcoat  and  handed  it  to  Nin-jing- 
wash.  Then  he  took  his  old  enemy  by  the  hand,  put 
his  other  arm  about  him,  turned  him  around  three 
times,  and  kissed  him.  He  then  went  to  each  of  the 
other  Hyda  chiefs  in  turn,  and  embraced  him.  Every 
chief  then  shook  hands  with  each  of  the  chiefs  of  the 
other  tribe,  each  man  put  his  mark  to  a paper  stating 
the  terms  of  peace,  and  after  a prayer-meeting  of 
thanksgiving  the  council  was  closed. 

Thomas  Crosby’s  heart  was  always  going  out  to 
the  many  tribes  of  Indians  along  the  coast  to  whom 
no  missionary  had  gone,  and  again  and  again  he  would 
take  a little  company  of  Christian  Indians  with  him 
and  start  out  on  a canoe  trip  lasting  several  days  or 
even  weeks.  Story  after  story  of  these  trips  shows 
how  fraught  with  discomfort  and  danger  they  were. 
Here  is  just  one  of  them. 

“ With  a party  of  ten  I started  away  in  February, 
1876.  As  the  weather  seemed  mild  and  favorable, 
we  expected  to  reach  Naas  the  same  night  or  next 
day,  but  that  night  the  weather  cleared  up  and  be- 
came frosty,  with  a very  strong  north  wind.  Next 
day  we  struggled  against  the  storm  up  Portland 
Channel  until  it  got  so  bad  we  had  to  camp.  In  the 
night  it  was  very  cold  in  our  camp  on  the  beach.  Next 


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COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


day  the  wind  blew  terribly  and  the  cold  increased  so 
that  we  had  to  move  camp  up  into  the  woods  and  cut 
down  trees  to  make  a booth  or  brushhouse  to  shelter 
us  from  the  wintry  blast.  Here  we  remained  for  sev- 
eral days  until  our  food  was  all  gone;  and  so,  in  the 
midst  of  the  gale,  the  wind  making  waterspouts  of 
the  waves  on  the  Inlet,  we  started  back  home,  assured 
that  w^e  couldn’t  get  up  the  Naas,  as  the  river  would 
be  freezing  over.  On  our  return  trip  near  a headland 
known  as  Ten  Mile  Point,  in  a most  miraculous  way 
we  were  saved  when  our  mast  broke  away  at  the  foot 
and  came  near  capsizing  the  canoe.  Had  we  been 
upset  here  we  must  all  have  been  lost,  for  the  rocks 
rose  perpendicularly  from  the  water’s  edge,  and  there 
was  no  way  to  get  ashore.  We  recovered  the  sail, 
got  it  fixed,  and  on  we  went,  the  waves  dashing  over 
us  and  the  spray  every  time  forming  ice  on  our 
covering  and  clothes. 

“ Within  ten  miles  of  home  we  met  Chief  Seck-sake 
from  Fort  Simpson  with  twenty-one  young  men  in  a 
large  canoe,  plunging  away  bravely  through  the  waves 
in  the  face  of  that  terrible  gale  to  take  food  to  the 
missionary  and  his  party.  They  had  become  con- 
vinced at  home,  the  night  before,  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  us  to  reach  Naas,  so  they  had  gone 
through  the  village  collecting  food.  They  had  got  a 
hundred  dried  salmon,  fish  grease,  and  other  things, 
and  were  bent  on  pressing  their  way  even  to  Naas 
through  such  a gale.” 

When  after  a hard  trip  up  the  coast  Crosby  and 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


1 27 


his  little  band  of  fellow  workers  succeeded  in  reach- 
ing their  destination,  they  were  not  always  sure  of 
a warm  welcome.  At  one  time,  when  they  finally 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  town  of  Naas,  they  found  all 
the  people  gathered  together  in  one  of  the  lodges. 
“ Men  were  dancing  all  over  the  floor,”  the  missionary 
writes,  “ the  old  conjurer’s  drum  was  going,  and 
hundreds  more  were  beating  sticks  on  boards  to  keep 
time.  They  were  covered  with  paint  and  feathers,  a 
grotesque  sight.  They  never  danced  promiscuously. 
When  the  men  would  sit  or  fall  down,  exhausted,  the 
women  would  sally  forth  and  dance,  they  in  turn 
falling  near  the  fire  or  even  on  it.  The  people  would 
throw  water  on  them  to  bring  them  to.”  A more  un- 
promising setting  for  the  preaching  of  the  gospel 
could  scarcely  be  imagined,  but  Thomas  Crosby  was 
not  the  man  to  be  turned  aside  by  difficulties.  “ I 
said,  ‘ Stop !’  in  a very  decided  voice,”  says  he,  “ 4 1 
want  to  preach  to  you.’  I walked  up  and  down  in  the 
house  giving  them  the  law  as  well  as  the  gospel.”  It 
was  only  a very  few  weeks  after  that  that  the  people 
of  Naas  sent  an  embassy  to  Fort  Simpson,  saying 
that  a thousand  people  wanted  a missionary.  Could 
he  not  be  sent  soon  f 

Many  and  many  a time,  however,  the  missionary’s 
welcome  was  pathetically  eager  and  heartfelt.  One 
evening  in  a village  far  up  the  Skeena  river  the  meet- 
ing was  typical  of  many  another  service  held  in  some 
remote  little  town  to  which  the  mission  canoe  had 
found  its  way.  “ I slipped  my  pack  off  my  back  and, 


128 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


Bible  in  hand,  commenced  to  tell  them  of  the  wonderful 
love  of  God  in  the  gift  of  his  Son  to  save  a lost 
world,”  writes  the  missionary.  “They  crowded  in 
and  crouched  on  the  floor.  We  had  no  other  light 
than  the  dying  embers  of  the  fire,  which  was  there 
more  to  smoke  the  salmon  which  hung  over  it  than 
to  give  light.  As  I spoke  on,  all  I could  see  was  a 
mass  of  faces  filled  with  wonder  and  amazement.  I 
continued  talking  for  a long  time,  as  they  seemed  in- 
tensely interested;  but  being  very  tired  was  about  to 
stop,  when  a number  with  tears  in  their  eyes  said, 
‘ Oh,  go  on,  do  tell  us  more ; we  never  heard  such  a 
wonderful  story;  tell  us  more!  ’ Some  time  after  this 
we  closed  the  service,  glad  that  we  had  come  so  far 
to  tell  them  of  a Savior's  love.” 

If  these  long  and  dangerous  trips  meant  danger 
to  the  missionary  they  meant  no  less  of  sacrifice  to 
the  missionary’s  wife  who  stayed  behind  at  Fort  Simp- 
son, keenly  aware  of  the  dangers  her  husband  might 
be  facing,  but  with  little  time  for  worry,  since  all  the 
services  at  Fort  Simpson  were  often  left  in  her 
hands  during  his  absence,  in  addition  to  her  teach- 
ing and  the  care  of  several  active  little  Crosbys. 
Some  of  the  darkest  hours  of  her  life  she  passed 
through  alone,  unable  to  reach  her  husband  or  send 
him  any  word.  At  one  time  after  he  had  been  away 
for  less  than  three  weeks  he  was  met,  when  about  one 
hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  home,  by  a canoe  flying 
a little  black  flag.  “What  kind  of  a flag  is  that?” 
the  missionary  asked.  “ Oh,  it  is  for  you,  sir,”  they 


A PACIFIC  PIONEER 


129 


told  him  pityingly.  “ Two  of  your  children  are  dead 
and  buried.”  It  did  not  seem  possible!  Less  than 
three  weeks  before  the  children  had  been  perfectly 
well.  But  there  was  no  mistake.  When  Thomas 
Crosby  reached  his  home  he  found  that  the  tiny  baby 
and  little  three-year-old  Winifred  were  gone,  and  the 
third  little  girl  and  her  mother  lay  desperately  ill 
with  diphtheria.  There  was  no  doctor  in  Fort  Simp- 
son, and  the  two  babies  had  gone  in  three  days.  The 
older  child  finally  recovered,  but  the  mother  lay  at 
death’s  door  for  months,  and  not  for  a year  and  a 
half  were  they  sure  that  they  could  keep  her.  The 
lack  of  a physician  was  one  of  the  severest  trials 
these  pioneer  missionaries  had  to  bear,  for  not  until 
long  after  other  forms  of  missionary  work  were  well 
under  way  was  medical  work  attempted.  Urgent 
petitions  were  sent  to  the  board,  however,  both  mis- 
sionaries and  Indians  promising  to  contribute  to  the 
support  of  medical  work,  and  now  there  are  missionary 
physicians  all  along  the  coast. 

When,  because  of  advancing  years  and  ill  health, 
Thomas  Crosby  reluctantly  left  his  work  among  the 
Indians,  after  almost  fifty  years  spent  in  their  service, 
a friend  wrote:  “ Beginning  when  paganism  was  ram- 
pant and  when  but  little  had  been  done  for  the  heathen 
Indian,  he  has  seen  the  work  advance  and  darkness 
recede  before  the  dawning  light,  until  to-day  churches 
and  schools  under  Christian  control  are  found  in  al- 
most every  Indian  village  and  white  settlement  on 
the  coast.” 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


I am  their  servant  in  the  field. 

— Samuel  Adjai  Crowther. 


SAMUEL  ADJAI  CROWTHER 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


One  sunny  morning  many  years  ago,  when  the  peo- 
ple in  the  little  town  of  Oshogun,  in  West  Africa,  were 
quietly  preparing  their  breakfasts,  sudden  word  came 
that  the  Eyo  Mohammedans  were  preparing  to  attack 
the  town,  capture  the  inhabitants,  and  sell  them  as 
slaves.  Before  the  startled  people  had  time  to  defend 
themselves  their  enemies  were  upon  them.  A few  min- 
utes later  the  women,  with  their  little  black  children, 
were  fleeing  to  the  jungles,  while  the  men  made  a last 
desperate  effort  to  drive  back  the  Mohammedans. 
Among  those  who  tried  to  find  a hiding-place  in  the 
shrubs  and  grasses  of  the  jungle  was  Adjai,  a boy 
about  fourteen  years  old.  But  he  and  his  mother  and 
two  sisters,  one  of  them  a tiny  baby  only  a few  weeks 
old,  had  not  gone  far  before  they  were  caught  by  the 
rope  nooses  of  their  enemies  and  led  away  with  other 
captives  to  the  town  of  Iseh’i,  which  lay  at  a distance 
of  some  miles. 

When  they  arrived  here,  Adjai  and  the  older  little 
sister  were  separated  from  their  mother  and  from 
each  other.  The  mother  and  baby  were  given  to  the 
chief,  of  the  town  of  Dahdah,  and  the  two  older  chil- 
dren were  assigned  to  different  people  in  the  town  of 
Iseh’i.  After  about  two  months  Adjai  was  taken  by 


132 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


his  master  to  Dahdah,  and  there  was  allowed  to  see 
his  mother  and  the  baby  often,  but  the  older  sister 
he  did  not  see  again. 

One  evening,  after  he  had  been  in  Dahdah  for 
about  three  months,  he  and  several  other  captives  were 
seized  and  chained  and  started  on  their  way  to  a 
market-town.  After  traveling  for  several  days  they 
reached  this  town,  and  Adjai  was  sold  to  a Moham- 
medan woman  who  took  him  to  another  part  of  the 
country  where  a language  was  spoken  which  he  could 
not  understand.  He  became  so  unhappy  that  he  tried 
several  times  to  strangle  himself,  but  he  never  got 
quite  enough  courage  to  pull  the  rope  so  tight  as  to 
hurt  himself  seriously.  He  became  so  sick  and  miser- 
able however  that  his  mistress  sold  him,  and  one  morn- 
ing he  set  out  with  his  new  owner  for  a region  still 
more  distant  from  his  home.  He  says  that  they  al- 
ways started  on  their  travels  before  dawn,  while  it 
was  still  dark,  in  order  that  the  slaves  might  not  see 
where  they  were  going  and  find  their  way  back  again. 
His  new  owner  traded  him  before  long  for  rum  and 
tobacco;  the  next  owner  soon  sold  him  to  another,  and 
for  several  months  he  was  passed  from  hand  to  hand 
until  he  reached  a trading  town  on  the  coast,  where  he 
was  sold  to  some  Portuguese  slave-traders. 

By  this  time,  though  he  was  still  a boy,  he  had  be- 
come, he  says,  “ a veteran  in  slavery,”  and  was  so 
hopeless  and  dejected  that  nothing  made  much  im- 
pression on  him.  But  these  strange  white  men,  the 
first  he  had  seen,  did  frighten  him,  and  the  sight  of 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


133 


so  much  water  was  also  terrifying,  for  he  had  never 
before  seen  the  sea  or  even  a large  river.  His  Portu- 
guese owners  put  an  iron  fetter  on  the  neck  of  each  of 
their  slaves,  thrust  a long  heavy  chain  through  each  of 
these  fetters  and  fastened  the  chains  at  both  ends  with 
a heavy  padlock.  Men  and  boys  were  chained  together, 
and  thrust  into  a room  with  no  windows  and  only  one 
door  which  was  kept  locked.  The  men,  being  stronger 
than  the  boys,  would  draw  the  chain  in  such  a way 
as  to  ease  themselves  of  its  weight,  with  the  result 
that  the  fetters  were  pressed  against  the  necks  of  the 
boys  so  heavily  that  they  were  almost  suffocated,  and 
their  necks  were  a mass  of  bruises.  But  at  last  their 
owner  had  secured  enough  slaves  to  satisfy  him,  and 
one  hundred  and  eighty-seven  of  them  were  loaded 
into  the  hold  of  a Portuguese  steamer.  At  first  Adjai 
was  utterly  miserable  from  fright  and  seasickness,  but 
his  troubles  were  almost  over,  for  the  very  day  on 
which  the  ship  set  sail  it  was  captured  by  two  British 
men-of-war.  These  new  white  men  with  their  long 
swords  were  very  alarming  sights  to  the  wonder- 
ing little  black  boys.  They  soon  learned,  however, 
that  they  had  at  last  fallen  into  the  hands  of  friends, 
and  when  they  understood  that  they  were  not  to  be 
kept  in  the  hold,  but  allowed  the  freedom  of  the  boat, 
and  that  they  might  have  all  the  food  they  wished, 
they  became  very  much  at  home  and  very  happy.  For 
two,  months  and  a half  Adjai  lived  on  H.M.S. 
Myrmidon , while  Captain  Leeke  looked  for  other  slave- 


134 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


ships,  and  at  the  end  of  that  time  was  taken  to  Sierra 
Leone,  where  he  was  put  in  the  care  of  some  English 
missionaries. 

Here  he  was  taught  to  read  and  write,  and  learned 
the  trade  of  a carpenter.  Here  too  he  became  a Chris- 
tian and  was  baptized  on  December  n,  1825,  receiving 
the  name,  Samuel  Adjai  Crowther.  He  was  the  first 
student  to  be  enrolled  in  the  Fourah  Bay  College,  which 
was  established  by  the  Church  Missionary  Society  of 
England  for  the  purpose  of  training  young  Africans 
to  be  missionaries  to  their  own  people.  The  principal 
of  the  college  describes  this  first  pupil  as  “ a lad  of 
uncommon  ability,  steady  conduct,  a thirst  for  knowl- 
edge, and  indefatigable  industry.”  After  his  gradua- 
tion he  was  invited  to  return  to  the  college  as  a tutor, 
and  while  he  was  filling  this  position  went  on  study- 
ing during  his  leisure  hours,  and  also  worked  as  an 
assistant  to  one  of  the  missionaries.  While  he  was  in 
college  he  was  married  to  a young  woman  who  was 
teaching  the  little  black  folks  at  Sierra  Leone.  She 
too  had  been  captured  by  the  slave-traders  of  West 
Africa  and  rescued  by  a British  war-ship,  and  she  and 
Adjai  had  been  good  friends  ever  since  he  had  been 
brought  to  Sierra  Leone.  They  both  came  from  the 
same  section  of  Africa  and  spoke  the  same  dialect,  and 
their  marriage  was  a very  happy  one. 

In  1841,  the  British  government  sent  an  expedition 
up  the  Niger  river  in  the  hope  of  persuading  the  na- 
tive chiefs  to  promise  that  the  slave-trade  would  be 
abolished  and  that  commercial  relations  with  Great 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER  135 

Britain  would  be  established.  When  the  officers  of  the 
Church  Missionary  Society  learned  of  this  enterprise, 
they  asked  that  two  of  their  representatives  might 
go  up  the  river  with  the  members  of  the  expedition  in 
order  to  find  out  whether  it  would  be  possible  to  estab- 
lish a mission  station  in  that  region.  This  request  was 
granted,  and  the  young  tutor  of  Fourah  Bay  College 
was  given  the  honor  of  going  on  that  famous  expedi- 
tion. Only  a handful  of  those  who  began  the  trip  were 
left  when  the  ships  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Niger  on 
their  way  back.  Jungle  fever  had  ended  the  life  of 
one  after  another,  and  it  had  been  impossible  for 
the  expedition  to  accomplish  all  that  had  been  hoped. 
But  it  had  firmly  established  one  fact  in  the  minds  of 
the  Church  Missionary  Society  leaders.  They  must 
emphasize  the  training  of  African  missionaries  to  their 
own  people,  for  they  had  seen  that  there  were  parts  of 
Africa  in  which  white  men  could  not  live  and  keep 
their  health. 

Samuel  Crowther’s  missionary  friends  and  his  com- 
panions on  the  expedition  up  the  Niger  wrote  enthusi- 
astic letters  to  England  about  him,  telling  of  his  ability, 
his  modesty,  and  his  earnestness,  and  suggesting  that 
he  be  summoned  to  England  to  be  ordained  as  a clergy- 
man of  full  rank  in  the  Church  of  England.  The 
Church  Missionary  Society  felt  sure  that  this  sugges- 
tion was  a wise  one,  and  in  September,  1842,  the  young 
man  landed  in  the  country  whose  seamen  had  years 
ago  rescued  him  from  the  slave-ship.  During  the 
journey  to  England  he  had  used  his  leisure  time  to 


136  COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 

prepare  a grammar  and  dictionary  of  the  Yoruba  lan- 
guage. 

He  had  been  a diligent  student  of  Latin  and  Greek 
while  he  was  teaching  at  Fourah  Bay  College,  and  the 
committee  who  examined  him  found  that  a very  few 
months  of  study  would  prepare  him  for  ordination. 
He  had  this  study  at  Islington  Church  College,  and 
took  his  examination  under  Dr.  Schofield,  Professor 
of  Greek  at  Cambridge.  Dr.  Schofield  was  among 
those  who  held  the  theory  that  the  mind  of  a Negro  is 
incapable  of  logical  reasoning,  but  after  examining 
Samuel  Crowther  he  said  to  the  principal  of  the  col- 
lege: 

“ I should  like,  with  your  permission,  to  take  young 
Crowther’s  answers  to  those  Paley  questions  back  with 
me  to  Cambridge  and  there  read  a few  of  them  to 
certain  of  my  friends.  If  after  hearing  the  young 
African’s  answers,  they  still  contend  that  he  does  not 
possess  a logical  faculty,  they  will  tempt  us  to  question 
whether  they  do  not  lack  certain  other  faculties  of 
at  least  equal  importance,  such  as  common  fairness  of 
judgment  and  Christian  candor.” 

After  his  ordination  Mr.  Crowther  returned  at  once 
to  Africa,  eager  to  begin  the  work  of  a Christian  mis- 
sionary to  his  people.  He  spent  the  days  on  the  ocean 
in  beginning  a translation  of  the  Bible  into  the  Yoruba 
language.  The  native  Christians  were  eagerly  await- 
ing him,  for  they  felt  that  a new  day  was  dawning  for 
Africa  in  the  coming  to  them  of  this  first  ordained 
Christian  minister  of  their  own  race.  They  referred 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


137 


to  him  lovingly  as  “ our  black  minister,”  and  crowded 
to  hear  him  whenever  he  preached. 

Upon  reaching  Africa  he  stayed  for  a time  in  Free- 
town, but  was  soon  ready  to  go  with  a little  company 
of  English  missionaries  to  establish  a Christian  mission 
station  at  Abeokuta,  where  a group  of  West  Africans 
who  had  been  captured  as  slaves  but  had  succeeded 
in  escaping  had  formed  a prosperous  colony.  After  a 
most  difficult  journey,  lasting  several  weeks,  Abeokuta 
was  reached,  and  the  missionary  party  was  cordially 
welcomed  by  Sagbua,  the  chief  of  the  colony.  The  town 
crier  was  sent  out  to  summon  a public  meeting,  and 
when  all  the  people  were  gathered  together,  Mr.  Crow- 
ther  addressed  them  in  their  own  language,  telling  them 
why  the  missionaries  had  come,  and  what  they  hoped 
to  do.  His  audience  responded  most  enthusiastically 
and  every  one  present  promised  a generous  gift  for 
the  church  building.  Work  on  the  new  structure  was 
begun  almost  at  once,  and  the  missionaries  had  so 
many  offers  of  help  that  they  could  not  possibly  use 
all  the  eager  applicants.  But  those  who  could  not  have 
part  in  the  actual  work  stood  by  and  cheered  on  the 
workers  with  their  admiring  comments. 

The  work  at  Abeokuta  grew  rapidly,  and  both  Mr. 
Crowther  and  his  wife  gave  their  whole  time  and 
energy  to  it  for  some  years.  Not  long  after  they  came 
there,  Mr.  Crowther  learned  that  the  mother  from 
whom  he  had  been  separated  nearly  twenty-five 
years  before,  was  living  with  a sister  in  a near-by 
town.  He  sent  for  them  at  once,  and  although  his 


138 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


sister  could  not  believe  that  this  message  was  really 
from  her  brother,  the  mother,  with  an  older  son,  Mr. 
Crowther’s  half-brother,  immediately  set  out  for 
Abeokuta. 

“ She  could  not  believe  her  own  eyes,”  Mr.  Crowther 
wrote  in  his  diary.  “ We  grasped  one  another,  looking 
at  one  another  in  silence  and  great  astonishment,  while 
the  big  tears  rolled  down  her  emaciated  cheeks.  She 
trembled  as  she  held  me  by  the  hand  and  called  me  by 
the  familiar  names  which  I well  remember  I used  to 
be  called  by  my  grandmother,  who  has  since  died  in 
slavery.  We  could  not  say  much,  but  sat  still,  casting 
many  an  affectionate  look  toward  each  other,  a look 
which  violence  and  oppression  had  long  checked,  an 
affection  which  twenty-five  years  had  not  extin- 
guished.” 

His  mother  was  Mr.  Crowther’s  first  Christian  con- 
vert at  Abeokuta,  and  was  baptized  by  him.  She  came 
to  live  with  him,  although  he  told  her  that  his  work 
would  often  cause  him  to  be  away  from  home  for  long 
periods  of  time.  But  she  said : 

“ You  are  no  longer  my  son,  but  the  servant  of 
God,  whose  work  you  must  attend  to  without  any 
anxiety  for  me.  It  is  enough  that  I am  permitted  to 
see  you  once  more  in  this  world ! ” 

Even  when  she  was  very  ill  and  knew  that  she  could 
not  recover,  she  would  not  permit  any  word  of  her  ill- 
ness to  be  sent  to  her  son,  lest  he  be  made  anxious  and 
his  work  suffer. 

After  working  in  Abeokuta  for  five  years  Mr.  Crow- 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


139 


ther  made  another  short  visit  to  England.  He  had  an 
interview  with  Lord  Palmerston,  the  Foreign  Secre- 
tary, in  which  he  explained  the  political  situation  in 
West  Africa,  and  laid  especial  emphasis  on  the  damage 
being  done  to  commerce  and  civilization  by  the  king 
of  Dahomey,  a native  chief  who  was  an  unscrupulous 
slave-trader  and  had  caused  the  peaceful  people  of 
Abeokuta  much  trouble.  Lord  Palmerston  thanked 
him  in  a letter  for  “ the  important  and  interesting  in- 
formation ” he  had  given,  and  a few  days  later  Mr. 
Crowther  was  asked  to  go  to  Windsor  Castle  to  tell 
the  Prince  Consort  what  he  had  told  the  Foreign  Sec- 
retary. Mr.  Crowther’s  children  used  to  listen  with 
breathless  interest  to  their  father’s  story  of  his  experi- 
ence that  afternoon. 

“ On  our  arrival  there,  Prince  Albert  was  not  in,” 
he  used  to  tell  them.  “ While  we  were  waiting  in  a 
drawing-room  I could  not  help  looking  round  at  the 
magnificence  of  the  room  glittering  with  gold,  the 
carpet,  chairs,  and  other  furniture,  all  brilliant.  While 
in  this  state  of  mind  the  door  was  opened  and  I saw 
a lady  gorgeously  dressed,  with  a long  train,  step 
gracefully  in.  I thought  she  was  the  Queen.  I rose 
at  once  and  was  ready  to  kneel  and  pay  my  obeisance, 
but  she  simply  bowed  to  us,  said  not  a word,  took 
something  from  the  mantelpiece  and  retired.  After 
she  left  Lord  Russell  told  me  that  she  was  one  of  the 
ladies-in-waiting. 

“ * Well ! ’ I said  to  myself,  4 if  a lady-in-waiting  is 
so  superbly  dressed,  what  will  be  the  dress  of  the  Queen 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


140 

herself?  ’ Soon  we  were  invited  to  an  upper  drawing- 
room more  richly  furnished  than  the  first.  Here  we 
met  Prince  Albert  standing  by  a writing-table.  Lord 
Russell  made  obeisance  and  introduced  me,  and  I 
made  obeisance.  A few  words  of  introductory  re- 
marks led  to  conversation  about  West  Africa,  and 
Abeokuta  in  particular.  . . . About  this  time  a lady 
came  in,  simply  dressed,  and  the  Prince,  looking  be- 
hind him,  introduced  her  to  Lord  Russell,  but  in  so 
quick  a way  that  I could  not  catch  the  sound.  This 
lady  and  the  Prince  turned  towards  the  map  to  find 
Abeokuta  and  Sierra  Leone,  where  the  slaves  are 
liberated.  . . . On  inquiry  I gave  them  the  history  of 
how  I was  caught  and  sold,  to  which  all  of  them 
listened  with  breathless  attention.  It  was  getting  dark, 
a lamp  was  gotten  and  the  Prince  was  anxious  to  find 
and  define  the  relative  position  of  the  different  places  on 
the  map,  especially  Lagos,  which  was  the  principal  sea- 
port from  which  Yoruba  slaves  were  shipped;  and 
when  the  Prince  wanted  to  open  the  Blue  Book  map 
wider,  it  blew  the  lamp  out  altogether,  and  there  was  a 
burst  of  laughter  from  the  Prince,  the  lady,  and  Lord 
Russell.  The  Prince  then  said, 

“ ‘ Will  your  Majesty  kindly  bring  us  a candle  from 
the  mantelpiece  ? ’ On  hearing  this  I became  aware 
of  the  person  before  whom  I was  all  the  time.  I trem- 
bled from  head  to  foot,  and  could  not  open  my  mouth 
to  answer  the  questions  that  followed.  Lord  Russell 
and  the  Prince  told  me  not  to  be  frightened,  and  the 
smiles  on  the  face  of  the  good  Queen  assured  me 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


141 

that  she  was  not  angry  at  the  liberty  I took  in  speak- 
ing so  freely  before  her,  and  so  my  fears  subsided. 
. . . Lord  Russell  then  mentioned  my  translations  into 
the  Yoruba  language,  and  I repeated  the  Lord’s 
Prayer  in  the  Yoruba,  which  the  Queen  said  was  a 
soft  and  melodious  language.  . . . After  these  ques- 
tions she  withdrew,  with  a marked  farewell  gesture.” 
Before  leaving  England  Mr.  Crowther  spoke  to  a 
large  audience  of  students  of  Cambridge  University, 
appealing  to  them  to  help  Africa.  “ St.  Paul  saw  in  a 
vision  a man  of  Macedonia,”  he  reminded  them,  “ who 
prayed  him  to  come  over  to  his  assistance.  But  it  is 
no  vision  that  you  see  now — it  is  a real  man  of  Africa 
that  stands  before  you,  and  on  behalf  of  his  country- 
men invites  you  to  come  over  into  Africa  and  help  us.” 
On  his  return  to  Africa  Mr.  Crowther  resumed  his 
work  at  Abeokuta,  and  within  the  next  two  or  three 
years  made  good  progress  in  his  translation  of  the 
New  Testament.  In  1853,  the  British  government 
planned  for  another  exploring  expedition  up  the  river 
Niger,  similar  to  that  on  which  Crowther  had  gone 
in  1841.  He  was  asked  to  go  with  this  second  expedi- 
tion also,  and  gladly  accepted  the  invitation,  for  he 
felt  that  the  time  might  now  be  ripe  for  the  estab- 
lishment of  mission  stations  in  this  region.  This  ex- 
pedition was  much  more  successful,  in  every  way, 
than  the  first  one  had  been,  and  Dr.  Baikie,  the  head 
of  the  party,  told  Mr.  Crowther  at  its  close: 

“ I cannot  allow  you  to  depart  without  expressing  to 
you  in  the  warmest  manner  the  pleasure  I derived  from 


142 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


your  company,  and  acknowledging  the  information  I 
have  reaped  from  you.  . . . It  is  nothing  more  than 
a simple  fact  that  no  slight  portion  of  the  success  we 
met  with  in  our  intercourse  with  the  tribes  is  due  to 
you.” 

In  June,  1857,  Dr.  Baikie  and  Mr.  Crowther  started 
up  the  Niger  again,  accompanied  by  a group  of  young 
traders  and  a company  of  native  missionary  workers. 
Wherever  Dr.  Baikie  established  a trading-post,  leav- 
ing a trader  in  charge  of  it,  Mr.  Crowther  established 
a mission  station,  leaving  one  or  more  of  the  native 
missionaries  at  each  place.  They  were  cordially  re^ 
ceived  everywhere,  and  after  two  years  and  a half  of 
work,  several  very  successful  mission  stations  had  been 
established,  all  of  them  in  the  entire  charge  of  native 
missionaries.  The  Church  Missionary  Society  was 
greatly  pleased  at  the  success  of  this  work  on  the  Niger, 
but  they  felt  that  if  it  was  to  be  permanent,  some  ex- 
perienced worker  must  be  appointed  as  bishop,  to  over- 
see the  work  of  the  young  African  missionaries  in  the 
newly  opened  stations.  Only  a week  after  his  return 
from  the  Niger  Mr.  Crowther  received  a letter  from 
the  Missionary  Society,  summoning  him  to  England 
immediately  to  attend  a meeting  of  the  General  Com- 
mittee. He  was  a little  puzzled  to  know  why  his  pres- 
ence in  England  was  so  urgently  demanded,  but 
started  at  once,  arriving  just  in  time  for  the  Committee 
Meeting.  He  was  then  told  that  he  had  been  sum- 
moned to  England  because  the  Church  wished  to  bestow 
upon  him  one  of  the  highest  honors  which  it  could 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


143 


confer,  namely,  the  office  of  bishop.  They  told  him 
that  he  was  to  be  Bishop  of  the  Niger,  with  full  charge 
of  all  the  work  on  the  Niger  river. 

At  first  ^11  that  the  astonished  man  could  say  was . 

“ I am  not  worthy ! ” but  later  he  insisted  that  one 
of  the  English  missionaries  should  be  made  bishop. 

“ Why  should  they  be  left  and  I be  asked  to  take  up 
such  an  office  ?”  he  protested.  “ No,  I am  their 
servant  in  the  field;  I cannot  accept  it.” 

“ But  we  saw  them  all,”  Mr.  Venn,  the  secretary  of 
the  Society,  told  him.  “ We  knew  and  appreciated 
their  work  before  asking  you  to  take  this  office.” 

But  Mr.  Crowther  was  immovable  in  his  refusal  to 
accept  this  honor,  and  finally  Mr.  Venn  sent  him 
away  to  spend  two  days  in  the  country  with  an  old 
friend  who  had  been  a missionary  in  Africa,  and  who 
used  every  argument  he  could  think  of  to  persuade 
his  guest  to  yield  to  the  wishes  of  the  Society.  But 
when  Mr.  Crowther  returned  to  London  he  was 
still  convinced  that  he  was  not  the  man  to  be  bishop. 
Mr.  Venn,  however,  would  not  be  refused.  Taking 
both  the  younger  man’s  hands  in  his,  and  looking 
straight  into  his  eyes,  he  said : 

“ Samuel  Adjai,  my  son,  will  you  deny  me  my  last 
wish  asked  of  you  before  I die?”  This  appeal  did 
what  all  the  arguments  had  failed  to  do,  and  looking 
up  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  Mr.  Crowther  answered: 

“Tt  is  the  Lord;  let  him  do  what  seemeth  to  him 
good.” 

The  old  cathedral  at  Canterbury  has  seldom  been  so 


144 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


crowded  as  on  the  day  when  the  “ Black  Minister  ” 
was  consecrated  as  bishop.  Special  trains  were  run 
from  London,  and  long  before  the  service  took  place 
thousands  were  thronging  the  building.  Up  in  the  very 
front  was  a quiet,  elderly  woman  who  told  the  church- 
warden that  she  had  a right  to  a good  seat  “ because 
the  Black  Minister  to  be  consecrated  bishop  this  morn- 
ing was  taught  the  alphabet  by  me.”  She  was  Mrs. 
Weeks,  one  of  the  missionaries  at  Sierra  Leone,  who 
had  welcomed  the  little  slave  boy  whom  Captain  Leeke 
had  brought  to  them.  And  Captain  Leeke  himself 
was  there,  in  his  naval  uniform,  eager  to  see  the  con- 
ferring of  this  great  honor  on  the  boy  whom  he  had 
taken  from  the  hold  of  the  slave-ship  so  many  years 
before.  The  entire  country  was  interested  in  what 
took  place  in  Canterbury  Cathedral  that  day,  and  even 
the  newspapers  entreated  the  prayers  of  their  readers 
for  Mr.  Crowther  and  his  diocese. 

The  bishop  seems  never  to  have  lost  that  spirit  of 
humility  which  had  made  him  so  reluctant  to  accept 
this  high  office.  His  son,  who  for  several  years  acted 
as  his  private  secretary,  says  in  a letter: 

“ When  he  was  written  to  as  ‘ My  Lord/  my  father 
used  to  tell  me,  in  reply,  to  put  a postscript  thus: 

‘ Please  address  me  as  Right  Reverend  Bishop  and 
never  as  My  Lord/  ” 

The  new  bishop  sailed  for  Africa  immediately  after 
his  consecration,  where  he  was  greeted  with  the  hearti- 
est and  most  enthusiastic  congratulations  of  a host  of 
friends.  He  started  on  a trip  up  the  Niger  almost  at 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


145 


once,  revisiting  the  mission  stations  already  estab- 
lished and  founding  new  ones.  This  was  the  beginning 
of  twenty-seven  years  of  steady,  untiring  discharge 
of  the  responsibilities  of  the  bishop  of  West  Africa. 
For  more  than  a quarter  of  a century  after  his  con- 
secration Bishop  Crowther  went  to  and  fro  among 
his  people,  strengthening  and  developing  work  already 
begun,  building  up  the  churches,  starting  schools,  pre- 
paring dictionaries  and  grammars  of  the  different  dia- 
lects, making  translations  of  the  Bible,  training  and 
ordaining  new  Christian  workers,  and  lending  a hand 
wherever  there  was  need.  He  was  quite  as  skilful  at 
teaching  his  people  how  to  make  sun-dried  bricks  for 
a church  building  as  at  preparing  translations  of  the 
Scriptures  for  them. 

The  bishop’s  heart  was  often  wrung  at  the  persecu- 
tions to  which  the  Christians  were  subjected,  but  at 
the  same  time  he  thrilled  with  pride  in  their  devotion 
and  loyalty.  The  Christian  slaves  of  pagan  masters 
suffered  most  cruelly,  for  they  had  no  means  of  pro- 
tection. Beatings,  imprisonment,  starvation,  torture, 
even  death  itself,  did  not  stamp  out  the  little  Christian 
communities.  One  poor  black  slave,  in  the  midst  of 
persecution,  received  word  from  his  master  that  he 
would  not  only  receive  pardon  but  also  gifts  and  pro- 
motion, if  he  would  give  up  his  Christianity,  but  that 
if  he  remained  a Christian  he  would  be  terribly  tor- 
tured. He  sent  back  word : 

“ Tell  the  master  I thank  him  for  his  kindness. 
He  himself  knows  that  I never  refused  to  perform 


146 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


duties  required  of  me  at  home.  But  as  regards  turn- 
ing back  to  heathen  worship,  that  is  out  of  my  power, 
for  Jesus  has  taken  charge  of  my  heart  and  padlocked 
it.  The  key  is  with  him.” 

Perhaps  the  greatest  hindrances  to  Christian  work, 
however,  did  not  come  from  the  Africans,  but  from 
white  men  who  came  to  the  country  to  make  money, 
and  cared  nothing  at  all  for  the  black  men  with  whom 
they  did  business.  Because  they  could  make  money 
by  selling  liquor  to  these  ignorant,  childlike  people, 
they  sold  it  without  regard  to  the  terrible  physical 
and  moral  injury  caused.  One  tribal  king,  the  Emir 
of  Nupe,  who  was  not  a Christian,  but  knew  Bishop 
Crowther,  wrote  an  appealing  letter  to  one  of  the  na- 
tive pastors,  imploring  the  bishop's  help  in  protecting 
his  people  from  liquor: 

“ Salute  Crowther,  the  great  Christian  minister. 
After  salutation  please  tell  him  he  is  a father  to  us  in 
this  land.  Anything  he  sees  will  injure  us  in  all  this 
land  he  would  not  like.  . . . The  matter  about  which 
I am  speaking  with  my  mouth,  write  it;  it  is  as  if  it  is 
done  by  my  hand ; it  is  not  a long  matter,  it  is  about 
barasa  (rum),  barasa,  barasa,  barasa, — it  has  ruined 
my  country,  it  has  ruined  my  own  people  very  much, 
it  has  made  our  people  become  mad ! I have  given  a 
law  that  no  one  dares  buy  or  sell  it,  and  any  one  who 
is  found  selling  it,  his  house  is  to  be  eaten  up  (plun- 
dered) ; any  one  found  drunk  will  be  killed.  I have 
told  all  the  Christian  traders  that  I agree  to  every- 
thing for  trade  except  barasa.  I have  told  Mr.  Me- 


A BISHOP  OF  THE  NIGER 


147 


Intosh’s  people  to-day  the  barasa  remaining  with  them 
to-day  must  be  returned  down  the  river.  Tell  Crow- 
ther,  the  great  Christian  minister,  that  he  is  our  fa- 
ther. I beg  you  don’t  forget  the  writing  because  we 
will  all  beg  that  he  should  beg  the  great  priests  (the 
Missionary  Society),  that  they  should  beg  the  Eng- 
lish Queen  to  prevent  bringing  barasa  to  this  land. 
For  God  and  the  prophet’s  sake  he  must  help  us  in  this 
matter — that  of  barasa.  We  all  have  confidence  in 
him ; we  must  not  have  our  country  to  become  spoiled 
by  barasa.  Tell  him  may  God  bless  him  and  his  work! 
This  is  the  mouth  word  from  Maliki,  the  Emir  of 
Nupe.” 

He  was  ever  anxious  to  press  on  into  unoccupied 
fields  to  establish  mission  stations  among  new  groups  of 
people,  and  often  this  work  took  him  into  unknown  and 
unexplored  regions.  During  one  of  his  visits  to  Eng- 
land the  Royal  Geographical  Society  paid  him  the  high 
honor  of  asking  him  to  read  them  a paper  about  the 
river  Niger.  An  enthusiastic  vote  of  thanks  was  given 
him  by  the  Society,  and  its  members  presented  him 
with  a beautiful  gold  watch  in  recognition  of  the 
valuable  additions  he  had  made  to  geographical  knowl- 
edge. 

Whether  in  discouragement  or  prosperity,  in  disap- 
pointment or  success,  the  bishop  never  wearied.  When 
old  age  and  illness  brought  weakness,  he  never  ceased 
to  work  for  his  people.  When  he  was  called  to  lay 
down  his  work  on  earth  he  was  busily  engaged  in 
translating  the  Prayer  Book  into  the  Hausa  language, 


148 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


and  was  just  about  to  set  out  on  a trip  to  one  of  his 
mission  stations. 

On  August  4,  1898,  a white  marble  monument  was 
unveiled  in  the  presence  of  a great  audience  in  the 
cemetery  of  Lagos.  White  people  and  black  people 
were  gathered  together  to  see  the  unveiling,  for  the 
white  people  and  the  black  people  had  given  the  money 
for  the  beautiful  stone.  On  it  are  engraved  the  words : 

SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY  OF 
THE  RIGHT  REV.  SAMUEL  ADJAI  CROWTHER,  D.D., 

A NATIVE  OF  OSHOGUN,  IN  THE  YORUBA  COUNTRY; 

A RECAPTURED  AND  LIBERATED  SLAVE  ; 

THE  FIRST  STUDENT  IN  THE  CHURCH  MISSIONARY  SOCIETY’S  COLLEGE, 
AT  FOURAH  BAY,  SIERRA  LEONE; 

ORDAINED  IN  ENGLAND  BY  THE  BISHOP  OF  LONDON,  JUNE  IITH,  1843  ; 
THE  FIRST  NATIVE  CLERGYMAN  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND 
IN  WEST  AFRICA, 

CONSECRATED  BISHOP  JUNE  29TH,  1864. 

A FAITHFUL,  EARNEST  AND  DEVOTED  MISSIONARY  IN  CONNECTION  WITH 
THE  CHURCH  MISSIONARY  SOCIETY  FOR  62  YEARS, 

AT  SIERRA  LEONE,  IN  THE  TIMINI  AND  YORUBA  COUNTRIES, 

AND  IN  THE  NIGER  TERRITORY; 

HE  ACCOMPANIED  THE  FIRST  ROYAL  NIGER  EXPEDITION  IN  1841  ; 
WAS  A JOINT  FOUNDER  WITH  OTHERS  OF  THE  YORUBA  MISSION  IN  1845, 
AND  FOUNDER  OF  THE  NIGER  MISSION  IN  1857; 

AND  OF  THE  SELF-SUPPORTING  NIGER  DELTA  PASTORATE  IN  1891  ; 
HE  FELL  ASLEEP  IN  JESUS  AT  LAGOS,  ON  THE  31ST  DECEMBER,  1891, 
AGED  ABOUT  89  YEARS. 

“WELL  DONE,  THOU  GOOD  AND  FAITHFUL  SERVANT  . . . ENTER 

THOU  INTO  THE  JOY  OF  THY  LORD.” — MATT.  XXV.  21. 


REDEEMED  BY  HIS  BLOOD.’ 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK 


I felt  that 
shoulders. 


had  the  honor  of  the  whole  African  race  on  my 
— Frances  Jackson  Coppin. 


FRANCES  JACKSON  COPPIN 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK 


Frances  Jackson  Coppin  first  opened  her  eyes  in  the 
District  of  Columbia.  One  of  her  earliest  memories  is 
of  the  tiny  one-room  cabin  where  her  black  grand- 
mother lived,  to  which  she  was  often  sent  to  keep 
“ Mammy  ” company.  Mammy  was  a slave,  and  so 
was  Frances’  mother,  and  so  too  was  the  little  black 
girl  herself.  But  mammy’s  husband,  Fanny’s  grand- 
father, managed  to  save  enough  money  to  buy  his 
liberty,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  free  he  went  to  work 
to  earn  money  to  purchase  his  children.  He  finally 
succeeded  in  freeing  four  of  them,  including  his 
daughter,  Sarah.  Sarah  had  always  been  devoted  to 
her  bright  little  niece,  Fanny,  and  her  first  decision 
after  she  was  free  was  that  she  would  secure  little 
Fanny’s  liberty.  She  soon  found  work  at  six  dol- 
lars a month,  and  each  month  she  put  away  every  cent 
she  could  possibly  spare,  until  finally  she  had  saved  the 
$125  which  were  needed  to  purchase  Fanny. 

By  the  time  Fanny  was  free  she  was  quite  a big 
girl,  old  enough  to  go  to  school  and  passionately  eager 
for  a chance  for  an  education.  So  her  aunt  Sarah 
sent  her  to  another  aunt,  who  lived  in  New  Bedford, 
Massachusetts,  hoping  that  there  Fanny  could  find  a 
place  to  work  for  her  board  and  go  to  school  at  the 

149 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


150 

same  time.  Her  aunt  succeeded  in  securing  a place 
for  the  child  with  a family  who  promised  that  she 
might  go  to  school  whenever  she  was  not  at  work, 
but  Fanny  soon  found  that  she  could  never  be  spared 
on  wash  days,  nor  ironing  days,  nor  cleaning  days,  and 
needless  to  say  her  education  did  not  progress  very 
rapidly  while  she  was  in  this  home. 

When  she  was  fourteen,  an  aunt  by  marriage  invited 
her  to  Newport  with  her,  promising  her  a home  and  a 
better  chance  to  go  to  school.  But  eager  as  Fanny  was 
for  an  education,  she  was  not  willing  to  be  dependent 
upon  her  aunt,  who  had  much  kindness  of  heart  but 
little  money,  and  although  she  went  with  her  to  New- 
port she  was  determined  to  support  herself.  She 
soon  secured  a position  in  the  home  of  a family  named 
Calvert,  who  let  her  have  one  hour  to  herself  every 
other  afternoon.  This  arrangement  did  not,  of  course, 
offer  any  possibility  of  attendance  at  school,  but  Fanny 
found  some  one  who  would  give  her  private  lessons, 
and  she  made  the  very  most  of  her  three  free  hours  a 
week.  She  was  almost  as  eager  for  a chance  to  study 
music  as  to  go  to  school,  and  out  of  her  weekly  wages 
she  paid  for  a music  lesson  each  week,  practising  when- 
ever she  could  find  any  time,  on  a piano  which  she 
rented  and  kept  in  her  aunt’s  home. 

Her  life  in  the  Calvert  home  was  a very  pleasant 
one,  for  Mrs.  Calvert  had  no  children  and  treated 
Fanny  more  as  a daughter  than  as  a servant,  teaching 
her  many  of  the  things  which  a mother  teaches  her 
daughter  and  giving  her  an  unusual  share  in  the  life 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK  151 

of  the  home.  But  comfortable  and  well  cared  for  as 
she  was,  Fanny  was  content  to  stay  only  long  enough 
to  earn  the  money  which  she  needed  to  take  her  to 
school. 

“ My  life  there  was  most  happy,”  she  says,  “ and  I 
never  would  have  left  her,  but  it  was  in  me  to  get  an 
education  and  to  teach  my  people.  This  idea  was 
deep  in  my  soul.  Where  it  came  from  I cannot  tell, 
for  I had  never  had  any  exhortations  nor  any  lectures 
which  influenced  me  to  take  this  course.”  “ Fanny, 
will  money  keep  you  ? ” Mrs.  Calvert  asked  her,  sym- 
pathizing with  the  girl’s  ambition,  but  dreading  to  part 
with  her.  “ But,”  says  Mrs.  Coppin,  “ that  deep-seated 
purpose  to  get  an  education  and  become  a teacher  to  my 
people  yielded  to  no  inducement  of  comfort  or  tem- 
porary gain.” 

For  a few  months  Fanny  went  to  the  public  school 
for  colored  children  in  Newport,  and  then  entered  the 
Rhode  Island  State  Normal  School,  at  Bristol. 

“ But,  having  finished  the  course  there,”  she  says, 
“ I felt  that  I had  just  begun  to  learn.” 

In  some  way  she  heard  of  Oberlin  College,1  the 
only  college  in  the  United  States  which  was  then  open 
to  colored  students,  and  she  determined  that  she 
would  go  there  and  take  the  college  course.  Her  aunt 
Sarah,  who  was  increasingly  proud  of  the  clever,  am- 
bitious niece  whose  freedom  she  had  purchased,  gave 
her  money  for  the  journey;  Bishop  Payne,  of  the 
African  Methodist  Episcopal  Church,  gave  her  a 
1 At  Oberlin,  Ohio. 


152 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


scholarship  of  nine  dollars  a year;  and  she  was  soon 
hard  at  work  at  Oberlin. 

The  Oberlin  faculty  did  not  advise  their  women 
students  to  take  the  course  planned  for  the  men,  which 
included  a great  deal  of  Latin  and  Greek  and  higher 
mathematics.  But  women  were  not  forbidden  to  enter 
this  course,  and  Fanny  Jackson,  whose  ambition  and 
courage  knew  no  bounds,  at  once  enrolled  herself  in  it. 

“ I took  a long  breath,”  she  says,  “ and  prepared  for 
a delightful  contest.” 

“ I never  rose  to  recite  in  my  classes  at  Oberlin,” 
she  once  said,  “ but  that  I felt  that  I had  the  honor 
of  the  whole  African  race  upon  my  shoulders.  I felt 
that,  should  I fail,  it  would  be  ascribed  to  the  fact 
that  I was  colored.” 

Many  years  after  she  had  left  Oberlin  she  recalled 
her  excitement  when  her  Greek  professor  announced 
that  he  was  planning  to  visit  the  mathematics  class 
to  which  she  belonged.  “ I was  particularly  anxious 
to  show  him  that  I was  as  safe  in  mathematics  as  in 
Greek,”  she  said.  “ I indeed  was  more  anxious,  for  I 
had  always  heard  that  my  race  was  good  in  the  lan- 
guages, but  stumbled  when  they  came  to  mathematics.” 
Probably  few  triumphs  ever  gave  her  more  pleasure 
than  the  brilliant  recitation  in  mathematics  which  she 
made  in  the  presence  of  her  Greek  professor  that 
day. 

Oberlin  offered  no  French  in  its  curriculum,  but 
Fanny  had  had  a beginning  in  that  language  when  she 
was  at  the  Rhode  Island  State  Normal  School,  and 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK 


153 


when  she  found  that  a professor  at  Oberlin  was  will- 
ing to  give  her  private  French  lessons,  she  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  add  them  to  her  regular  college 
work.  When  commencement  time  came  her  gradua- 
tion essay  was  distinguished  among  its  fellows  in  that 
it  was  written  in  French! 

In  addition  to  her  studies,  Fanny  Jackson  did  prac- 
tise teaching  in  the  preparatory  school,  and  helped  to 
support  herself  at  Oberlin  by  giving  music  lessons  to 
sixteen  private  pupils.  She  was  also  a member  of  the 
famous  student  choir  of  Oberlin.  During  the  latter 
part  of  her  college  life  a great  many  of  the  Negroes 
whom  the  war  had  freed  poured  into  Ohio  from  the 
South  and  a number  of  them  settled  in  Oberlin.  Their 
helplessness  and  lack  of  education  made  an  instant 
appeal  to  Fanny  Jackson,  and  in  her  senior  year  she 
added  an  evening  class  for  them  to  her  already  heavy 
schedule. 

“ It  was  deeply  touching  to  me  to  see  the  old  men 
painfully  following  the  simple  words  of  spelling,  so 
intensely  eager  to  learn,”  she  said,  and  she  could  not 
turn  away  from  an  opportunity  to  help  them. 

Her  college  days  were  more  than  busy,  but  they 
were  thoroughly  happy,  for  she  had  at  last  won  the 
opportunity  to  prepare  herself  to  work  for  her  race, 
and  she  was  in  the  midst  of  the  most  congenial  and 
kindly  people.  During  the  greater  part  of  her  college 
life  she  lived  in  the  home  of  Professor  and  Mrs.  Peck, 
and  she  never  failed  to  acknowledge  her  debt  to  the 
influence  of  that  Christian  home.  Nor  did  she  ever 


154 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


forget  the  sympathy  and  friendship  of  her  fellow  stu- 
dents. “ One  day  at  Mrs.  Peck’s,”  she  wrote  long 
afterward,  “ when  we  girls  were  sitting  on  the  floor 
getting  our  Greek,  Miss  Sutherland  from  Maine  sud- 
denly stopped,  and  looking  at  me  said : 4 Fanny  Jack- 
son,  were  you  ever  a slave?’  I said  ‘ Yes,’  and  she 
burst  into  tears.  Not  another  word  was  spoken  by  us, 
but  those  tears  seemed  to  wipe  out  a little  of  what 
was  wrong.” 

The  year  before  Fanny  Jackson’s  graduation  the 
faculty  of  the  Institute  for  Colored  Youth,  of  Phila- 
delphia, applied  to  Oberlin  for  a colored  woman  teacher 
of  Latin,  Greek,  and  higher  mathematics.  The  Ober- 
lin faculty  at  once  responded:  “ We  have  the  woman, 
but  you  must  wait  a year  for  her.”  The  school  waited, 
and  a year  later  the  class  poet  of  the  class  of  ’65  began 
her  work  in  the  school  with  which  she  was  intimately 
associated  for  thirty-seven  years. 

The  Institute  for  Colored  Youth  had  always  at- 
tracted a great  deal  of  attention,  and  was  constantly 
visited  by  people  from  all  over  the  United  States  and 
Europe.  Miss  Jackson’s  classes  were  of  special  inter- 
est to  visitors,  and  she  never  needed  to  be  ashamed 
of  the  work  her  students  were  doing.  One  visitor,  who 
listened  to  her  class  in  Horace  dealing  with  some 
particularly  difficult  meters,  was  so  delighted  with  their 
work  that  he  presented  their  teacher  with  the  copy 
of  Horace  which  he  had  used  in  college.  At  another 
time  Miss  Jackson  invited  an  English  nobleman,  who 
had  been  listening  to  a public  examination  of  one  of 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK 


155 


her  classes,  to  take  the  class  and  examine  them  fur- 
ther. But  the  Englishman  promptly  declined  the  in- 
vitation with  the  remark : “ They  are  more  capable  of 
examining  me;  their  proficiency  is  simply  wonderful.” 

Four  years  after  Miss  Jackson  went  to  Philadelphia 
the  principal  of  the  Institute  for  Colored  Youth  was 
called  to  Haiti,  as  United  States  Minister,  and  the 
school  was  left  in  charge  of  Professor  Octavius  Catto 
and  Miss  Jackson,  Mr.  Catto  taking  special  respon- 
sibility for  the  boys’  department,  Miss  Jackson  being 
in  charge  of  the  girls’  work. 

Soon  after  the  management  of  the  school  was  en- 
trusted to  Mr.  Catto  and  Miss  Jackson,  they  abolished 
the  work  in  Greek  and  Latin.  There  was  an  increasing 
demand  for  their  students  as  teachers  in  public  schools, 
where  Latin  and  Greek  were  not  taught,  but  a thorough 
training  in  the  three  Rs,  geography,  history,  literature, 
and  science,  was  required.  After  the  work  in  the 
classics  was  dropped,  added  emphasis  was  laid  on 
these  other  subjects  and  Miss  Jackson  established  a 
course  in  normal  training  in  which  the  young  people 
who  were  to  be  teachers  were  trained  in  the  theory 
of  teaching,  school  management,  and  similar  subjects. 
The  successful  work  done  by  the  scores  and  hundreds 
of  colored  teachers  who  received  their  training  in  the 
normal  department  of  the  Institute  is  a strong  testi- 
mony to  the  character  and  thoroughness  of  the  work 
Miss  Jackson  gave  them. 

Fanny  Jackson  was  not  satisfied,  however,  with  the 
addition  of  a normal  department  to  the  Institute.  She 


156 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


felt  that  the  school  had  succeeded  splendidly  in  its 
original  purpose  of  proving  that  the  Negro  was  as 
capable  of  advanced  education  as  any  one,  and  that  its 
task  after  the  close  of  the  war  must  be  a very  different 
one.  She  was  more  than  glad  to  drop  Greek  and  Latin 
from  the  course,  for  she  felt  that  a knowledge  of  the 
dead  languages  would  be  of  little  or  no  use  to  the  great 
majority  of  her  race,  and  she  was  heartily  glad  to  add 
a normal  department  for  the  training  of  those  who 
purposed  to  teach.  But  she  could  not  rest  until  the 
Institute  had  made  provision  for  the  great  masses  of 
young  Negroes  who  must  support  themselves  in  other 
ways  than  by  teaching,  and  she  set  her  heart  and  mind 
upon  the  establishment  of  an  industrial  department. 

Not  long  after  the  Philadelphia  Centennial  Exposi- 
tion of  1876,  a group  of  prominent  educators  of  Phila- 
delphia met  to  discuss  the  question  of  what  ought  to 
be  done  in  the  way  of  industrial  training,  and  Miss 
Jackson  was  asked  to  tell  what  was  being  done  for 
the  industrial  education  of  the  young  colored  people  of 
Philadelphia. 

“ It  may  well  be  understood  that  I had  a tale  to 
tell ! ” she  says,  “ and  I told  them  the  only  places  in 
the  city  where  a colored  boy  could  learn  a trade,  was 
in  the  House  of  Refuge  or  the  Penitentiary,  and  the 
sooner  he  became  incorrigible  and  got  into  the  Refuge, 
or  committed  a crime  and  got  into  the  Penitentiary, 
the  more  promising  it  would  be  for  his  industrial 
training.  It  was  to  me  a serious  occasion.  I so  ex- 
pressed myself.  As  I saw  building  after  building  go- 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK 


157 


in g up  in  this  city  and  not  a single  colored  hand  em- 
ployed in  the  construction  it  made  the  occasion  a very 
serious  one  to  me.” 

The  day  after  this  meeting  the  wife  of  one  of  the 
school  directors  drove  up  to  the  Institute  and  said  to 
Miss  Jackson : “ I was  there  last  night  and  heard  what 
you  said  about  the  limitations  of  the  colored  youth,  and 
I am  here  to  say  that,  if  the  colored  people  will  go 
ahead  and  start  a school  for  the  purpose  of  having 
the  colored  youth  given  this  greatly  needed  education, 
you  will  find  plenty  of  friends  to  help  you.  Here  are 
fifty  dollars  to  get  you  started,  and  you  will  find  as 
much  behind  it  as  you  need.”  “ We  only  needed  a 
feather’s  weight  of  encouragement  to  take  up  the 
burden,”  Mrs.  Coppin  said,  in  telling  of  this  incident. 
“ We  started  out  at  once.” 

A temporary  organization  was  formed  to  establish 
the  industrial  department,  and  Miss  Jackson  was  made 
its  field  agent.  Her  task  was  not  an  easy  one.  It 
takes  much  money  to  equip  an  industrial  school,  and 
the  colored  people  to  whom  she  turned  for  help  had  lit- 
tle to  give.  But  she  was  determined  that  the  founda- 
tions of  the  industrial  work  should  be  laid  by  the 
people  for  whose  benefit  it  was  established.  If  they, 
out  of  their  poverty,  gave  for  this  cause,  she  knew  that 
she  would  have  a most  convincing  plea  to  make  to  those 
who  could  offer  larger  contributions.  Before  she  could 
win  the  gifts  of  her  race,  however,  she  must  win  their 
interest  and  belief  in  industrial  work,  for  to  some  of 
them  manual  labor  was  still  associated  with  slavery; 


158 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


and  it  was  not  always  easy  to  make  them  see  that  it  was 
as  dignified  and  valuable  as  professional  work.  But 
Fanny  Jackson’s  arguments  and  eloquence  were  irre- 
sistible and  her  people  rallied  around  her  in  Phila- 
delphia and  its  suburbs,  in  New  York,  in  Washington, 
and  wherever  she  went.  She  would  never  ask  for  a 
gift  larger  than  a dollar,  and  the  industrial  department 
was  started  with  a sum  which  amounted  to  a little  less 
than  three  thousand  dollars.  “ Three  thousand  dol- 
lars was  a mere  drop  in  the  bucket,”  Mrs.  Coppin  said 
afterward,  “ but  it  was  a great  deal  to  us,  who  had  seen 
it  collected  in  small  sums — quarters,  dollars,  and  like 
amounts.”  It  was  characteristic  of  Fanny  Jackson’s 
thoroughness  that  she  prepared  for  what  she  called  her 
“ industrial  crusade  ” by  a two  years’  study  of  political 
economy  under  Dr.  William  Elder,  of  Philadelphia. 

Soon  the  industrial  department  was  well  established 
in  a building  the  brickwork  of  which  had  been  made 
by  the  students.  Classes  in  plastering,  carpentry, 
shoemaking,  printing,  and  tailoring  were  provided  for 
the  boys ; dressmaking  and  millinery  for  the  girls ; and 
cooking,  stenography,  and  typewriting  for  both  boys 
and  girls.  Thus  several  years  before  Tuskegee  was 
established  the  Institute  for  Colored  Youth  had  under- 
taken the  task  of  furnishing  a thorough  industrial 
training  to  its  students. 

One  of  the  greatest  difficulties  in  the  beginning  of 
this  work  was  that  of  finding  employment  for  the 
graduates  after  they  had  learned  their  trades.  In  order 
to  bring  the  industrial  work  of  the  school  before  the 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK 


159 


public,  Mrs.  Coppin  established  an  Industrial  Ex- 
change, and  held  several  exhibits  of  work  by  the 
pupils.  Both  colored  and  white  people  attended  these 
exhibits,  and  signified  their  interest  and  approval  most 
encouragingly.  Visits  to  the  school  itself  did  even 
more  than  exhibits  to  convince  people  of  the  value  of 
the  work  done  there.  “ Many  were  the  ejaculations  of 
satisfaction  at  this  busy  hive  of  industry,”  said  Mrs. 
Coppin.  “ Ah,”  said  some,  “ this  is  the  way  the  school 
should  have  begun ; the  good  Quaker  people  began  at 
the  wrong  end.”  But  Fanny  Jackson  did  not  agree 
with  this  statement.  “ When  they  began  this  school,” 
she  said,  “ the  whole  South  was  a great  industrial 
plant  where  the  fathers  taught  the  sons  and  the 
mothers  taught  the  daughters,  but  the  mind  was 
left  in  darkness.  That  is  the  reason  that  John 
C.  Calhoun  is  said  to  have  remarked : ‘ If  you 
will  show  me  a Negro  who  can  conjugate  a Greek 
verb,  I will  give  up  all  my  preconceived  ideas  of 
him;  ’ so  that  the  managers  had  builded  wiser  than 
many  people  knew.” 

In  1881  Miss  Jackson  was  married  to  the  Rev.  Levi 
J.  Coppin.  Her  marriage  did  not,  however,  affect 
her  relation  to  the  Institute.  She  continued  to  be  its 
principal  for  over  twenty  years  more,  and  found  time 
also  to  care  for  her  home,  and  to  take  an  active  part 
in  the  work  of  her  church. 

Mrs.  Coppin  seems  always  to  have  made  a strong 
impression  as  a public  speaker.  At  one  time  Dr.  James 
McAllister,  then  superintendent  of  the  public  schools 


i6o 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


of  Philadelphia,  declined  an  invitation  to  speak  to  the 
parents  and  pupils  of  the  Octavius  Catto  School,  on 
the  plea  of  many  other  engagements.  When,  how- 
ever, he  was  told  that  Mrs.  Coppin  was  to  speak  on  the 
same  occasion  he  decided  to  accept  the  invitation  after 
all,  for,  he  said,  “ I must  surely  hear  Mrs.  Coppin, 
for  I consider  her  the  very  best  speaker  on  methods  of 
instruction  I have  ever  heard,  either  abroad  or  in 
America.” 

In  1902  Mrs.  Coppin  resigned  the  principalship  of 
the  Institute  for  Colored  Youth  in  order  to  go  to  South 
Africa,  where  her  husband  had  been  appointed  Bishop 
of  the  African  Methodist  Episcopal  Church.  Here, 
although  no  longer  young,  she  began  the  most  arduous 
work  she  had  ever  attempted,  under  very  difficult  con- 
ditions. Traveling  in  South  Africa  was  slow  and  very 
tiring  and  trying,  but  Mrs.  Coppin  unhesitatingly  ac- 
companied her  husband  far  into  the  interior,  at  one 
time  going  as  far  as  Bulawayo,  1,360  miles  from  their 
base  of  operations  at  Cape  Town.  The  headquarters 
at  Cape  Town  to  which  they  returned  after  their  long 
trips  were  not  the  most  comfortable  or  restful,  but 
Mrs.  Coppin  says,  “ the  one  absorbing  thought  was, 
how  shall  we  accomplish  the  work  for  which  we  left 
our  homes?  ” 

The  condition  of  the  colored  people  in  Cape  Town 
at  once  aroused  Mrs.  Coppin’s  sympathy.  The  ma- 
jority of  the  Negroes  who  had  been  born  in  or  near 
Cape  Town  were  of  mixed  blood,  exceedingly  poor, 
uneducated,  and  untrained.  At  the  same  time  saloons 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK 


161 


were  plentiful  in  Cape  Town,  sometimes  three  in  a 
block.  “ It  surely  cannot  be  difficult  to  imagine  how 
easily  a people  so  neglected  in  the  higher  ideals  of  life 
would  turn  to  the  drink  habit  as  a mere  pastime,”  Mrs. 
Coppin  wrote. 

The  state  of  the  pure-blooded  Africans  who  came  to 
Cape  Town  from  the  interior  was  no  better.  Most 
of  them  were  employed  in  unloading  ships  or  in  work 
on  the  railroad,  and  were  quartered  in  “ locations  ” 
a mile  or  two  beyond  the  city  limits.  Mrs.  Coppin 
wrote  of  them,  “ The  cabins  or  huts  provided  for  them 
by  the  government  at  Cape  Town  are  very  inferior 
for  comfort  to  those  built  by  the  natives  in  their  rural 
habitat  before  being  brought  into  contact  with  our  so- 
called  civilization.  The  Cape  Town  location  for 
Negroes  was  on  a tract  of  land  that  would  be  fairly 
flooded  with  water  during  the  rainy  season,  and  many 
who  came  down  hale  and  hearty  would  return  as  con- 
sumptives— a disease  practically  unknown  to  the 
‘ heathen  ’ — or  never  return  at  all.  The  drink  habit 
would  soon  be  learned  by  these  raw  natives  and  their 
last  state  would  be  worse  than  the  first.” 

Mrs.  Coppin  directed  most  of  her  energies  in  Cape 
Town  toward  organizing  the  women  into  Woman’s 
Christian  Temperance  Union  Societies.  She  not  only 
succeeded  in  establishing  a strong  society  in  Cape 
Town  itself,  but  started  others  at  several  near-by 
towns  where  there  were  mission  stations. 

“ At  our  first  annual  session  of  the  Conference  which 
met  at  Port  Elizabeth,”  Mrs.  Coppin  wrote,  “ the  sight 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


162 

of  native  and  colored  women  at  a missionary  meeting 
was  one  of  the  features  of  the  Conference;  and  a glori- 
ous and  inspiring  sight  it  was.  Gathered  about  me  on  the 
platform  and  around  the  altar  were  women  who  had 
never  before  appeared  in  public  for  Christian  work;  at 
least,  never  before  to  take  a leading  part  in  it.  They 
had  been  lately  organized,  and  now  they  were  called 
upon  to  do  the  work  of  officers,  and  to  speak  to  the 
public  gathering  for  themselves ; some  in  Dutch — their 
mother  tongue — some  in  broken  English,  and  some  in 
their  own  God-given  native  tongue.” 

The  greater  part  of  Mrs.  Coppin’s  time  and  energy 
was,  however,  spent  in  the  interior,  going  with  her 
husband  to  the  remote  stations  to  teach  the  women  of 
the  Father-God,  for  love  of  whom  she  had  come  so 
far.  The  simple  native  folk  made  a strong  appeal  to 
her,  and  she  looked  back  upon  the  years  in  Africa  as 
very  happy  ones,  in  spite  of  their  constant  discomforts 
and  hardships. 

After  their  return  from  Africa  the  Coppins  again 
made  their  home  in  Philadelphia.  Mrs.  Coppin’s 
health  did  not  permit  her  to  take  up  her  teaching 
again,  but  in  response  to  the  request  of  many  friends 
she  gave  herself  with  great  interest  to  the  prepara- 
tion of  a book  on  Reminiscences  of  School  Life  and 
Teaching,  the  words  of  the  dedication  being,  “To  my 
beloved  aunt,  Sarah  Orr  Clark,  who,  working  at  six 
dollars  a month,  saved  one  hundred  and  twenty-five 
dollars,  and  bought  my  freedom.”  The  final  editing 
and  publishing  of  the  book  was,  however,  done  by  her 


A BELIEVER  IN  BLACK  FOLK  163 

husband,  for  she  had  not  finished  her  work  when  death 
came  in  January,  1913. 

The  latter  part  of  Mrs.  Coppin’s  book  consists  of 
biographical  sketches  of  several  young  colored  men 
and  women  who  had  been  her  pupils  at  the  Institute, 
and  whose  useful  lives  are  her  best  memorial.  Her 
joy  and  pride  in  them  were  equaled  only  by  their  love 
and  reverence  for  her.  One  of  them  who  knew  her 
best  says: 

“ The  chief  characteristics  of  Mrs.  Coppin  were 
modesty  and  a most  beautiful  unselfishness;  and  be- 
cause of  these  rare  qualities  she  was  ever  ready  to  plead 
for  the  weak  and  oppressed.  She  always  sought  the 
advance  of  causes,  and  never  that  of  self.  It  was 
these  qualities  combined  with  fine  ability  that  made 
her  the  good,  noble  woman  we  all  loved  and  honored, 
and  whose  memory  and  life-work  we  would  per- 
petuate.” 


it'-'  ‘ ' r-‘ 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS 


O God,  save  my  country  and  save  my  soul. 

— Syngman  Rhee. 


SYNGMAN  RHEE 


I 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS 

When  Christian  missionaries  first  entered  Korea, 
the  “ Land  of  the  Morning  Calm,”  about  thirty  years 
ago,  they  found  a people  gentle,  hospitable,  friendly, 
and  responsive,  but  a people  desperately  poor  and 
improvident,  a people  from  whom  all  ambition  and 
hope  seemed  to  have  been  crushed.  Centuries  of  op- 
pression by  a corrupt  and  selfish  government  had  left 
them  patiently  resigned  to  ill  treatment  and  poverty, 
with  no  thought  that  conditions  could  ever  be  improved. 
The  emperor  was  not  naturally  cruel,  but  he  was  weak 
and  selfish,  and  thought  very  little  of  how  he  might 
serve  his  people,  and  a great  deal  of  how  they  might 
enrich  him.  He  seized  the  property  of  his  rich  sub- 
jects who  were  within  reach  of  the  capital;  his  pro- 
vincial governors  stole  from  the  prominent  men  in 
their  sections  of  the  country;  and  petty  officials  preyed 
upon  every  one  else.  Officials  were  appointed,  not 
because  of  honesty  or  ability,  but  because  they  could 
afford  to  pay  for  an  office.  The  larger  the  amount 
paid,  the  higher  the  office  secured.  The  old  govern- 
ment of  Korea,  says  one  who  was  an  official  under 
it,  was  the  worst  in  Asia,  and  as  bad  as  that  of  Turkey. 
Of  the  emperor  one  of  his  subjects  declared,  “ He 
handcuffed  us,  he  robbed  us,  he  paddled  us,  he  hanged 

165 


i66 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


and  quartered  us,  he  lived  for  himself  alone  and  for 
his  worn-out  superstitions.” 

Into  this  country,  under  this  government,  Syngman 
Rhee  was  born.  His  parents  were  people  of  high 
class  whose  highest  ambition  for  their  only  son  was 
that  he  should  become  so  proficient  in  the  Confucian 
classics  as  to  be  able  some  day  to  compete  in  the  gov- 
ernment examinations  and  win  the  coveted  literary 
degree,  which  was  the  passport,  outwardly  at  least, 
to  high  government  office.  “ My  earliest  recollections,” 
Mr.  Rhee  says,  “ are  associated  with  daily  study  of 
great  books  spread  out  before  me,  whole  pages  of 
which  I was  expected  to  commit  to  memory.”  The 
boy  shared  his  parents’  ambition  and  was  very  proud 
of  his  Confucian  scholarship,  very  suspicious  and  con- 
temptuous of  the  schools  established  by  the  foreign 
men  of  a strange  religion  from  across  the  sea.  Some 
of  his  friends  left  the  old  Confucian  school  to  study 
“ new  things  ” in  the  schools  of  the  foreigners,  and 
often  urged  Rhee  to  join  them  and  learn  of  the  won- 
derful things  which  the  people  of  the  Western  world 
had  invented.  They  told  him  thrilling  tales  of  rail- 
roads, telegraph  lines,  even  of  flying-machines,  but 
Rhee  turned  a deaf  ear,  and  deemed  his  friends  traitors 
in  going  to  a school  which  gave  foreign  education  and 
taught  of  a religion  other  than  that  of  their  native 
country.  “ Let  them  change  the  order  of  heaven  and 
earth,”  he  declared,  “ I shall  never  give  up  my  mother 
religion;  ” and  he  prayed  the  more  earnestly  to  his  idols 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS  167 

to  destroy  the  religion  of  the  “ foreign  devils  ” before 
it  could  work  harm  to  his  country. 

In  1894,  however,  the  China-Japanese  war  brought 
many  changes  in  the  “ Land  of  the  Morning  Calm.” 
Korea,  with  the  rest  of  the  Orient,  began  to  ask  why 
it  was  that  the  tiny  Sunrise  Kingdom  had  been  able 
to  defeat  the  great  celestial  empire  so  completely, 
and  began  to  understand  that  the  secret  of  Japan’s 
power  lay  in  the  fact  that  she  had  been  learning  from 
the  Western  world,  and  had  replaced  medievalism  with 
a thoroughly  modern  civilization.  For  the  time  being 
it  was  more  important  for  young  men  who  aspired  to 
government  positions  to  be  familiar  with  the  English 
language  than  the  Confucian  classics,  and  Syngman 
Rhee  felt  that  he  must  learn  English  if  his  ambitions 
for  government  office  were  to  be  fulfilled.  But  if  he 
were  to  study  English  he  must  go  to  the  mission 
school,  for  it  was  not  taught  in  the  old  Confucian 
schools.  For  days  the  boy  struggled  between  his  de- 
sire for  English  and  his  dislike  and  fear  of  the  for- 
eigners and  the  school  they  had  established.  He  hated 
the  “ heaven-wicked  doctrine  ” which  was  taught  in  the 
school,  and  feared  that  the  missionaries  would  “ be- 
witch ” him  into  believing  it  by  mysterious  foreign 
medicines.  He  remembered  how  his  mother  had  sent 
him  every  year,  on  his  birthday,  to  the  great  Dwo 
Mookai  Buddhist  temple  to  offer  sacrifices  and  prayers, 
and  he  did  not  dare  tell  her  that  he  was  even  thinking 
of  such  an  impious  act  as  attendance  at  a Christian 


i68 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


school.  Ambition  finally  conquered,  however,  and  he 
entered  the  Pai  Chai  mission  school. 

Probably  no  more  self-sufficient,  independent,  proud- 
spirited boy  ever  enrolled  in  the  school.  He  was  sus- 
picious of  the  motives  of  those  who  had  left  their  own 
distant  country  to  come  to  teach  in  his;  he  hated  the 
chapel  services'  which  all  students  were  required  to 
attend,  listened  as  little  as  possible  to  what  was  said 
there,  and  scoffed  at  whatever  he  could  not  help  hear- 
ing. When  he  left  the  school,  he  was  apparently  as 
unfriendly  to  Christianity  as  when  he  entered  it.  But 
while  he  had  been  learning  the  language  of  the  country 
from  which  his  teachers  came  he  had  caught  much  of 
the  spirit.  He  had  read  of  countries  where  the 
people  were  not  oppressed  as  in  Korea,  of  governments 
which  were  unselfish  and  patriotic,  and  his  heart  was 
fired  with  desire  to  bring  to  his  nation  the  reforms  so 
greatly  needed.  “ Those  who  know  anything  about 
the  political  oppression  to  which  the  common  mass  of 
Korean  people  were  mercilessly  subjected  would  imag- 
ine what  a revolution  would  have  been  wrought  in  the 
heart  of  a young  Korean  who  heard  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life  that  the  people  in  Christian  lands  were  pro- 
tected by  a law  against  the  tyranny  of  their  rulers,”  he 
writes.  “ I said  to  myself,  ‘ It  would  be  a great  blessing 
to  my  downtrodden  fellow  men  if  we  could  only 
adopt  such  a political  principle.’  ” 

Other  young  men,  educated  in  Christian  schools  or 
Christian  countries,  were  also  filled  with  the  purpose  to 
make  a mighty  effort  to  right  the  wrongs  of  centuries, 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS  169 

and  a strong  Independence  Club  was  organized  and 
was  for  a time  very  influential.  A broad  and  far- 
reaching  policy  of  reform  was  attempted  and  a number 
of  reforms  were  introduced.  Syngman  Rhee  was  one 
of  the  leading  spirits  in  this  movement,  and  was  fre- 
quently pointed  out  by  the  conservatives  as  one  of  the 
most  dangerous  of  the  young  progressives.  He  edited 
a small  daily  newspaper,  the  first  newspaper  ever  pub- 
lished wholly  by  Koreans,  in  which  he  fearlessly 
preached  the  doctrines  of  liberty  and  equality.  His 
missionary  teachers  warned  him  that  such  plain  and 
frequent  speaking  on  these  subjects  might  cost  him 
his  life,  but  the  little  daily  kept  on  appearing  until  its 
editor  was  suddenly  thrown  into  prison.  The  influ- 
ence of  the  reactionaries  had  finally  triumphed  with 
the  emperor,  and  a sudden  attack  was  made  on  the 
reform  party.  Armed  police  seized  forty  of  the 
strongest  of  them,  and  the  others  escaped  only  by  flight. 

Words  are  inadequate  to  describe  the  prison  into 
which  Rhee  was  thrown.  He  and  his  fellow  captives, 
educated,  cultured  men  like  himself,  were  herded  to- 
gether in  one  room  like  cattle,  in  company  with  the 
lowest  criminals.  Many  were  bound  in  torturing 
stocks,  and  the  room  was  so  crowded  that  even  those 
not  in  stocks  were  often  unable  to  lie  down  unless  they 
lay  on  top  of  each  other.  The  air  was,  of  course, 
stifling;  the  sanitary  conditions  unspeakable,  and  dirt 
and  vermin  abounded  everywhere.  The  food  was 
filthy  and  often  decaying,  but  the  prisoners  were  in 
such  a starved  condition  that  the  criminals,  who  were 


i;o 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


physically  stronger  than  the  political  prisoners  and 
very  unfriendly  to  them,  often  tore  their  portions 
away  from  them.  The  jailers,  too,  singled  out  the 
young  reform  leaders  for  especially  cruel  treatment. 

These  conditions  were  terrible  in  themselves,  but 
the  most  excruciating  torture  was  added  to  them,  in 
order  to  wring  confessions  of  crime  from  the  prison- 
ers, or  to  persuade  them  to  give  evidence  against 
others.  Syngman  Rhee  was  one  of  those  who  suf- 
fered terrible  torture.  For  seven  long  months  his  feet 
were  in  stocks,  his  hands  bound  in  chains  behind  his 
back,  and  night  and  day  he  wore  a wooden  collar  three 
feet  long,  two  feet  wide,  and  several  inches  thick 
around  his  neck.  Small  wonder  that  in  that  crowded, 
filthy  room,  unprotected  from  the  heat  of  summer  or 
the  cold  of  winter,  unable  to  lie  down  or  shift  his 
position  in  any  way,  Syngman  Rhee  envied  those  of 
his  companions  who  were  put  to  death,  and  waited 
impatiently  for  his  own  time  to  come. 

One  day  the  door  of  his  cell  was  thrown  open,  and 
the  prisoners  were  told  that  the  officers  were  coming 
to  lead  one  of  them  to  execution.  When  they  begged 
to  know  which  one  was  to  be  taken,  the  guards  pointed 
to  Rhee.  “ I could  not  but  rejoice,”  he  says,  “ for  I 
felt  that  even  a bloody  execution  would  be  a happy 
relief  to  my  awful  sufferings.  Surely  my  life  was  a 
living  death.  I just  had  time  to  commit  to  my  fellow 
prisoner  a message,  which  he  faithfully  promised,  if 
possible,  to  carry  to  my  dear  grief-stricken  parents, 
when  the  sheriff  approached.  Instead  of  seizing  me 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS 


171 


he  laid  his  hands  on  the  poor  fellow  next  me,  and 
dragged  him  forth  to  die  like  a dog,  while  I was  left 
to  writhe  in  agony.’' 

Death  had  passed  him  by,  but  it  had  come  so  vividly 
near  that  it  left  Rhee  very  thoughtful.  He  felt  certain 
that  his  execution  was  only  a question  of  time,  and  he 
could  not  get  away  from  the  question,  “ What  then  ? ” 

Death  he  did  not  fear,  but  what  followed?  The 
three  religions  of  Korea  gave  him  no  satisfactory  an- 
swer. Confucianism  said  nothing  whatever  of  a life 
after  death;  Buddhism  had  no  clear,  sure  teaching  of 
it,  and  he  had  had  too  much  education  to  believe  in 
the  degrading  superstitions  of  Shamanism.  In  his 
need  his  mind  went  back  to  what  he  had  heard  in  the 
chapel  of  the  mission  school — of  a God  who  was  so 
tender  a Father  that  he  had  sent  his  Son  to  the  world 
that  men  might  know  that  he  loved  them  and  longed 
to  have  them  turn  to  him  that  he  might  give  them 
eternal  life.  As  Rhee  thought  of  these  things  he  became 
almost  overwhelmed  with  a sense  of  his  sinfulness  in 
having  hardened  his  heart  to  the  truth  he  had  heard 
from  the  missionaries,  and  in  having  bitterly  and  pub- 
licly spoken  against  Christ.  In  his  agony  of  remorse 
he  dimly  remembered  having  heard  that  God  would 
forgive  the  sins  of  those  who  repented,  and  in  the  hour 
of  his  deepest  need  he  turned  humbly  and  penitently  to 
his  Father.  He  had  never  prayed,  and  he  scarcely 
knew  how,  but  bending  his  head  as  well  as  he  could 
in  the  wooden  collar  which  bound  him,  he  cried,  “ O 
God,  save  my  country,  and  save  my  soul.”  It  was  his 


172 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


first  prayer,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that  it  brought  him  a 
sense  of  peace  and  pardon.  Each  moment,  as  he  sat 
bound  in  his  stocks,  he  knew  that  he  might  hear  the 
footsteps  of  those  who,  at  his  country’s  order,  would 
take  him  to  death,  but  he  cried  first,  “ O God,  save  my 
country!  ” and  afterward,  “ Save  my  soul!  ” 

“ Ah,  it  was  then,  almost  immediately,”  he  cried, 
“ such  a sweet  peace  as  I had  never  known  came  into 
my  soul  and  filled  my  eyes  with  tears  of  joy.”  He 
began  at  once  to  tell  his  fellow  prisoners  and  guards 
of  the  peace  which  was  filling  his  heart,  but  he  longed 
for  a Bible  that  he  might  know  and  teach  them  more 
of  the  blessed  truth  to  which  he  had  given  so  little 
heed  when  he  was  in  the  mission  school.  At  last  one 
of  the  guards  succeeded  in  smuggling  a little  Testa- 
ment into  the  prison.  One  guard  stood  at  the  cell’s 
little  window  to  give  warning  of  the  approach  of  the 
jailer,  and  another  held  the  book,  while  Rhee,  hands 
fast  bound  behind  him,  eagerly  read  of  the  words  of 
hope  and  comfort.  “ Day  after  day,”  he  says,  “ I read 
with  the  tears  streaming  down  my  cheeks,  and  ex- 
plained as  best  I could  its  wonderful  truths  to  those 
about  me.”  One  by  one  the  criminals  who  had  been 
so  unfriendly  and  the  guards  who  watched  over  him 
found  the  same  peace  which  had  come  to  him,  and 
finally  even  the  jailer,  like  the  one  who  guarded  the 
apostle  Paul  at  Philippi,  believed,  and  was  baptized 
with  all  his  house. 

Syngman  Rhee  was  not  executed,  but  was  sentenced 
to  prison  for  life.  After  the  jailer’s  conversion,  how- 


POLITICAL  PRISONERS 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS 


173 


ever,  he  was  moved  from  the  crowded  cell  into  one 
which  was  larger  and  more  comfortable  and  from 
which  he  could  reach  a larger  number  of  prisoners. 
He  organized  a number  of  the  prisoners  into  a school 
and  with  the  jailer’s  help  secured  text-books  for  them. 
Arithmetic,  geography,  history,  political  economy,  and 
English  were  studied,  but  the  Bible  and  the  Christian 
religion  were  the  subjects  which  received  the  most 
earnest  attention.  Man  after  man  became  a Christian, 
and  Rhee  organized  a little  church  in  the  prison.  Of 
course  the  news  of  Rhee’s  conversion  brought  great 
joy  to  the  missionaries,  who  had  never  lost  their  touch 
with  him,  and  they  did  everything  in  their  power  to 
help  him  in  the  work  he  was  carrying  on  among  the 
prisoners.  Dr.  Appenzeller,  principal  of  the  Pai  Chai 
School,  and  Dr.  Bunker,  who  had  succeeded  in  securing 
permission  to  hold  evangelistic  services  in  the  imperial 
prison,  were  able  to  send  him  a number  of  books  and 
papers  for  his  school,  and  the  little  reading  room  which 
he  had  established.  At  their  suggestion,  too,  Rhee 
undertook  to  translate  several  English  books  of  various 
kinds  into  Korean.  A part  of  one  of  these  manu- 
scripts, written  on  rough  brown  paper  and  stained  with 
prison  soil,  is  still  in  the  possession  of  one  of  the  mis- 
sionaries. 

Among  Rhee’s  converts  was  Kim  Hong-biu,  one  of 
the  group  of  political  prisoners.  Before  the  day  on 
which  he  was  executed  he  was  so  fearfully  tortured 
that  his  bones  were  broken,  but  his  fellow  prisoners 
said  that  he  was  one  of  the  happiest  men  they  had 


174 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


ever  seen.  On  the  day  set  for  his  death  his  old  father 
and  mother  and  his  wife  and  children  came  to  the 
prison  hoping  to  see  him.  They  were  not  allowed  to 
go  in,  but  the  guard  said  to  Kim,  “If  you  have  some 
special  message,  I will  take  it  to  your  father.”  Kim 
thought  for  a few  minutes,  then  said : “ Tell  my  people 
that  this  filthy  house  of  suffering  and  torture  has  been 
a pok-dang  (house  of  blessing)  to  me.  I am  glad  I 
came  here,  for  I have  learned  about  Jesus  Christ.  Give 
them  my  Bible  and  tell  them  to  believe  in  Jesus.” 

Another  man  won  to  Christ  by  Syngman  Rhee  was 
Yi  Sang-jai,  a veteran  Korean  statesman.  He  was 
for  several  years  secretary  of  the  Korean  legation  at 
Washington,  and  on  his  return  to  Korea  became  a 
member  of  the  Independence  party.  He  was  at  one 
time  its  vice-president,  and  later  was  secretary  of  the 
imperial  cabinet  of  Korea.  During  all  this  time  he  was 
a vigorous  opponent  of  Christianity,  although  some  of 
his  fellow  reformers  were  earnest  Christians.  One  of 
them  once  said  to  him,  “You  will  yet  remember  Christ 
in  prison,”  and  the  words  came  to  Yi  like  a prophecy 
when,  two  years  later,  he  and  several  of  his  friends 
were  thrown  into  prison.  There  was  death  for  some, 
and  torture  for  many,  but  none  suffered  more  than 
Yi  Sang-jai,  who  was  forced  to  see  his  son  tortured 
before  his  eyes  in  a vain  effort  to  make  him  confess 
some  crime  which  would  justify  his  father’s  execution. 
But  he  still  refused  to  listen  to  any  word  of  Chris- 
tianity, and  repulsed  all  Syngman  Rhee’s  efforts  to 
comfort  him  with  the  message  of  a God  of  love. 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS  1 76 

Gradually,  however,  almost  imperceptibly  at  first, 
there  came  a change.  At  last  Yi  Sang-jai  saw  his  op- 
position to  Christianity  as  sin,  and  turned  in  penitence, 
as  Rhee  himself  had  done.  From  that  time  on  he  was 
as  ardent  a preacher  of  Christianity  as  he  had  been 
an  opponent.  Within  two  years  after  his  release  from 
prison  Yi  Sang-jai  was  made  secretary  of  the  em- 
peror's cabinet,  a position  of  great  prominence  and 
influence.  Yet  he  said  one  day  to  the  Rev.  James  S. 
Gale,  a missionary  friend,  “ I find  myself  longing  for 
those  old  days  in  that  hole  of  a prison.  We  had  such 
blessed  times  in  our  study  and  communion  there,  and 
now  I am  so  busy  with  these  crowds  of  people  and 
government  affairs  that  I find  it  impossible  to  pray  as 
much  or  read  my  books  as  I would  like.”  Dr.  Gale 
says  that  of  five  hundred  people  who  some  time  ago 
joined  the  church  to  which  Yi  Sang-jai  belongs  a large 
proportion  testified  that  they  had  become  Christians 
as  a result  of  his  influence.  After  the  change  in  gov- 
ernment in  Korea  Yi  Sang-jai  became  the  Religious 
Work  Director  of  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Associa- 
tion in  Seoul. 

Another  fellow  prisoner  of  Syngman  Rhee  noted 
for  his  opposition  to  Christianity  was  Kim  Chung-sik. 
He  was  the  chief  of  the  Seoul  police  at  the  time  that 
the  Independence  party  was  most  active,  and  was  not  in 
sympathy  with  the  reformers.  But  when  he  was  or- 
dered one  day  to  take  his  men  and  shoot  into  a crowd 
of  people  who  were  listening  to  a reform  speaker,  he 
refused  to  sanction  such  an  unjustified  cruelty.  By 


1 76 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


this  refusal  he  incurred  the  deep  displeasure  of  the 
government  and  was  soon  sharing  the  fate  of  the  re- 
formers in  the  Seoul  prison.  He  was  finally  induced 
to  join  the  little  group  of  men  who  were  studying  the 
Bible,  and  one  of  them  gave  him  a copy  of  Pilgrim’s 
Progress , which  Rhee  had  succeeded  in  having  brought 
into  the  prison.  Kim’s  interest  was  at  once  awakened 
in  this  book,  when  he  saw  that  Bunyan,  like  himself, 
was  in  prison  because  of  his  convictions.  One  day, 
after  he  had  finished  reading  it  and  was  studying  a 
leaflet  by  Dwight  L.  Moody,  it  seemed  to  him  that 
Christ  came  into  his  cell,  and  looking  into  his  face  said, 
“ Kim,  give  me  your  heart.”  “ That  was  the  happiest 
moment  of  my  life,”  said  Kim,  “ for  I did  it.”  After 
his  release  from  prison  he  at  once  joined  the  Church, 
and  soon  afterward  became  interested  in  Christian 
work. 

One  day  he  and  Yi  Sang-jai  went  together  to  call  on 
the  old  Minister  of  War,  who  was  chiefly  responsible 
for  their  imprisonment  and  suffering. 

“ Your  Excellency  was  the  cause  of  our  being  un- 
justly thrown  into  prison,”  they  said  to  him  frankly. 
“ Some  of  us  died  in  the  prison;  we  were  sick  because 
of  the  food  and  filth;  our  wives  and  children  nearly 
starved  to  death.” 

“ I was  tortured  until  one  of  the  bones  of  my  leg 
was  broken,”  Kim  told  him,  and  Yi  added,  “ You  al- 
most killed  my  son  in  order  to  get  him  to  confess 
something  which  would  give  you  an  excuse  to  kill  me.” 

“ According  to  Korean  codes  we  should  try  to  kill 


AN  AMBASSADOR  IN  CHAINS 


1 77 


you  now,”  they  said,  “ but  we  have  become  Christians 
and  are  willing  to  forgive  you.  All  that  we  ask  of  you 
is  to  confess  your  sins,  believe  in  Jesus,  and  pray  for 
forgiveness.”  The  old  man  was  touched  by  the  plea 
of  those  whom  he  had  so  injured  and  promised  that  he 
would  do  as  they  urged  him. 

When  in  1904  the  Russo-Japanese  war  ended, 
Japan’s  first  act  was  to  occupy  Korea  by  establishing 
what  was  virtually  a protectorate.  Almost  immedi- 
ately after  Japan’s  occupation  of  the  country  (August 
7,  1904)  Syngman  Rhee  was  released  from  prison. 
He  had  endured  almost  unbelievable  hardship  and  suf- 
fering, but  he  says,  looking  back  to  the  joy  which  his 
allegiance  to  Christ  and  work  for  him  had  brought,  “ I 
can  never  forget  how  thankful  I was  in  that  prison,  and 
I shall  ever  remain  thankful  for  all  the  blessings  which 
I received  during  the  years  of  my  imprisonment.” 
Eager  to  get  the  best  possible  preparation  for  the 
service  of  God  and  his  people  he  went  to  America  for 
a further  education.  He  graduated  from  George 
Washington  University,  took  his  Master’s  degree  from 
Harvard,  and  his  Ph.D.  in  the  Theological  Department 
of  Princeton.  Upon  his  return  to  Korea  he  became  an 
active  member  of  the  Methodist  Episcopal  Church  of 
Seoul,  and  accepted  a position  as  Student  Secretary  of 
the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Association.  After  several 
years  of  work  in  Korea  he  was  asked  to  become  the 
principal  of  the  Korean  school  in  Honolulu,  and  is  now 
one  of  the  leaders  in  Christian  work  in  the  Hawaiian 
Islands. 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND 


A friend  is  one  who  knows  all  about  us  and  loves  us  just  the 
same. 

— Grace  H.  Dodge. 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND 


Where  cross  the  crowded  ways  of  life,  where 
strength  is  crushed  by  joyless  toil,  where  lips  lose  their 
laughter  and  hearts  forget  their  hope,  there  walked  not 
long  ago  a friend.  And  goodness  and  mercy  followed 
her  all  the  days  of  her  life,  for  wherever  she  walked 
joy  songs  came  back  to  tired  hearts,  and  weary  ways 
were  trodden  with  gallant  cheer,  for  all  the  needy  and 
hungry  ones  had  found  a friend  who  cared.  One  day 
in  the  warm  golden  glow  of  the  world’s  great  Friendly 
Time,  when  her  home  was  filled  with  lonely  ones 
from  distant  lands  across  the  sea,  the  radiant  Lord  of 
Christmas  touched  her  eyes  and  bade  them  open  to 
look  upon  the  unveiled  beauty  of  his  face.  Then  there 
were  heard  in  factory  and  office,  in  school  and  home,  in 
city  and  country,  in  the  homeland  and  far-away  lands, 
the  voices  of  the  strong  and  weak,  the  great  and  little, 
the  rich  and  poor,  saying,  “ We  have  lost  a friend.” 
And  those  who  loved  most  understanding^  said,  “ We 
shall  never  again  hear  the  word  friend  without  think- 
ing of  Miss  Dodge.” 

Grace  Dodge  began  very  early  to  walk  the  way  of 
Friendly  Hearts.  A girl  just  out  of  school,  she  claimed 
as  friends  all  other  girls,  and  poured  out  her  friend- 
ship in  most  abundant  measure  to  those  who  needed 


179 


i8o 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


her  most.  Many  of  her  friends  were  girls  who  worked 
for  long  hours  in  factories,  and  as  her  friendship  with 
them  grew  she  saw  how  many  things  there  were  which 
they  did  not  know,  and  how  few  of  them  had  any  one 
to  teach  them.  Always  it  was  her  way  when  she  saw 
a need  to  do  her  utmost  to  meet  it,  so  she  gathered  a 
group  of  these  girls  about  her  every  week  and  very 
simply,  very  understandingly,  talked  with  them  about 
how  to  keep  well  and  strong,  how  to  use  money  wisely, 
how  to  dress,  how  to  take  care  of  sick  folk,  how  to 
make  friends,  how  to  be  the  kind  of  person  who  is 
worthy  of  friends,  and  how  to  find  strength  and  joy  in 
fellowship  with  the  Great  Friend.  Often  she  talked  to 
them  of  the  homes  which  they  would  some  day  make, 
and  told  them  how  to  make  the  life-to-be  a beautiful 
and  radiant  thing.  She  found  that  almost  none  of 
them  could  cook  Or  sew,  and  she  knew  that  they  must 
somehow  learn  to  do  such  things  before  they  made  these 
new  homes.  But  there  were  no  social  settlements  then 
where  these  subjects  were  taught,  nor  any  industrial 
or  night  schools.  So  Miss  Dodge  found  teachers  and 
organized  classes  for  the  girls  in  cooking,  sewing,  and 
millinery.  She  did  not  wait  for  the  girls  to  come  to  her 
but  sought  them  out,  and  after  they  had  once  come 
they  needed  no  further  urging.  They  told  the  other 
girls  whom  they  knew  about  their  big-sister  friend, 
and  the  first  group  grew  until  it  had  to  be  divided,  and 
still  the  girls  kept  coming  until  there  were  not  two 
but  many  “ Clubs  for  Working  Girls.”  When  the 
membership  in  the  clubs  had  grown  into  hun- 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND 


181 


dreds,  Miss  Dodge  asked  other  people  to  come  in 
and  help,  and  the  girls  loved  them  too,  but  not  quite 
as  they  did  Miss  Dodge.  “ They’re  jolly,  and  fine 
for  a good  time,”  one  of  the  girls  explained,  “ but  if 
it’s  trouble  there’s  only  Miss  Dodge.”  There  was 
nothing  they  feared  to  bring  to  this  friend  of  theirs, 
they  were  so  certain  of  her  understanding  and  sym- 
pathy. They  were  sure  that  no  one  else  would  ever 
know  the  secrets  they  told  to  her,  that  no  confession 
that  they  might  make  would  ever  shake  her  faith  in 
them  or  cost  them  her  love.  She  was  their  friend,  and 
“ a friend  is  one  who  knows  all  about  us  and  loves  us 
just  the  same.” 

Miss  Dodge  had  no  intention  of  losing  her  touch  with 
her  friends  when  they  married  and  left  the  clubs  for 
working  girls.  “ The  Domestic  Circle”  was  formed  for 
these  married  girls,  and  is  now  a strong  independent 
organization,  meeting  its  own  expenses,  planning  its 
own  programs,  and  inviting  its  own  speakers.  A warm 
personal  letter  went  to  its  members  every  month  from 
Miss  Dodge.  But  it  needed  no  organization  to  keep 
these  women  close  to  their  helper;  no  girl  who  had 
ever  known  her  friendship  could  drift  away  from  her. 
“ What  did  she  really  do  for  you  ? ” some  one  once 
asked  of  a woman  who  had  come  into  one  of  the  clubs 
twenty  years  before.  The  woman’s  eyes  rested  on  the 
little  daughter  who  was  standing  at  her  knee,  wandered 
over  the  attractive  room  of  her  home  in  which  they 
were  sitting,  and  then  were  raised  to  the  visitor.  “ She 
made  me,”  she  answered  quietly.  “ Everything  that  I 


182 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


am  is  due  to  her,”  these  friends  of  Miss  Dodge  often 
say.  “ I have  been  a member  of  her  clubs  for  twenty 
years,”  one  of  them  said  not  long  ago.  " When  I 
started  with  her  I knew — well,  I knew  just  nothing. 
I learned  to  sew,  to  cook,  to  embroider,  to  keep  house, 
to  shop,  and  to  have  a good  time.  I was  a raw  factory 
girl.  I had  no  mother  and  no  home.  God  knows 
what  would  have  become  of  me  if  it  hadn’t  been  for 
Miss  Dodge.”  More  than  five  thousand  girls  have  been 
members  of  these  clubs  since  Miss  Dodge  started  them 
thirty  years  ago,  and  every  one  has  been  to  Miss 
Dodge,  not  a “ club  member,”  but  a friend. 

Out  of  her  friendship  with  many  girls  there  was 
born  in  Miss  Dodge  the  deep  conviction  that  the 
schools  ought  to  be  teaching  children  how  to  use  their 
hands  as  well  as  their  heads.  Many  of  her  girl  friends 
had  net  known  how  to  do  the  simplest  things  about 
a house  and  had  had  no  chance  to  learn  until  her  clubs 
opened  classes  for  them.  It  is  hard  to  realize  now, 
when  there  are  great  institutions  especially  for  the 
teaching  of  the  industrial  arts,  when  these  subjects  are 
taught  by  many  public  schools,  social  settlements, 
Christian  Associations,  and  other  kindred  organiza- 
tions, that  twenty-five  years  ago  they  were  scarcely 
taught  at  all.  Miss  Dodge  felt  that  they  must  be 
taught,  and  she  and  eleven  other  women  organized  the 
Kitchen  Garden  Association  for  the  purpose  of  mak- 
ing people  see  this  need.  This  Association  grew  into 
the  Industrial  Education  Association,  which  opened 
a school  for  the  teaching  of  such  subjects  in  1885.  A 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND 


183 

total  of  1,904  students  entered  the  school  the  first  year, 
4,383  the  second;  and  it  was  not  long  before  the  pur- 
pose of  the  organization  had  been  attained  and  a recog- 
nition of  the  value  of  industrial  education  secured. 
All  the  schools  wanted  industrial  arts  taught,  but 
where  were  the  men  and  women  able  to  teach  them  ? 

Miss  Dodge  was  a school  commissioner  at  this  time ; 
the  first  woman  who  had  ever  held  such  a position  in 
New  York.  Through  her  contact  with  the  teachers  she 
learned  that  many  of  them  were  eager  for  further 
training  but  saw  no  way  of  securing  it.  The  need  of 
such  training  and  the  fact  that  the  industrial  arts  could 
not  be  taught  in  the  schools  unless  there  were  men  and 
women  trained  to  teach  them,  convinced  her  that  a 
teachers’  training  college  was  needed.  To  Miss  Dodge 
the  recognition  of  a need  meant  the  necessity  of  meet- 
ing that  need,  and  so  Teachers’  College  came  into  being. 
One  day  as  Miss  Dodge  was  driving  past  the  splendid 
buildings,  full  of  teachers  preparing  for  bigger,  better 
service,  she  said  quietly  to  a friend  who  was  with  her, 
“ I dreamed  that  once.” 

But  it  was  not  because  it  was  a beautiful  dream  come 
true,  but  because  it  was  a great  company  of  her  friends, 
that  Miss  Dodge  so  loved  Teachers’  College.  Dean 
Russell  told  its  students  the  other  day : “ Not  a day, 
certainly  not  a week,  has  passed  since  I became  one 
of  this  group  that  she  has  not  befriended  in  some  ma- 
terial way  a Teachers’  College  student  or  officer.  We 
owe  to  her  our  students’  emergency  fund,  which  has 
restored  to  health  hundreds  of  beneficiaries  in  hospital 


1 84 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


or  sanitarium.  She  has  been  the  backer  and  chief  sup- 
porter of  our  religious  and  social  work,  and  in  a thou- 
sand ways,  characteristic  of  her  gentle  nature,  she 
has  guided  us  to  a higher  life.” 

For  eight  years  Miss  Dodge  loved  young  women 
through  the  Young  Women’s  Christian  Association. 
As  president  of  the  National  Board  of  the  Young 
Women’s  Christian  Association  of  the  United  States, 
she  poured  the  richness  of  her  life  into  the  lives  of 
city  girls  and  country  girls,  high  school  girls,  and  col- 
lege girls,  immigrant  girls  and  Indian  girls,  colored 
girls  and  Oriental  girls. 

It  is  literal  truth  to  say  that  there  was  no  young 
woman  anywhere  who  was  beyond  the  bounds  of  Miss 
Dodge’s  interest.  She  was  the  friend  of  every  girl 
from  the  Orient  who  had  come  to  study  in  an  American 
college.  Those  of  them  who  lived  near  her  knew  well 
what  a gracious  hostess  she  was,  and  those  in  colleges 
farther  away  were  sure  of  her  Christmas  greeting  each 
year.  They  were  her  .last  guests;  she  was  not  strong 
enough  to  be  with  them  that  afternoon  before  she 
went  away,  but  twice  she  sent  some  one  to  tell  them 
how  glad  she  was  that  they  were  there. 

Miss  Dodge’s  friendship  for  the  girls  of  the  world 
made  her  a most  loyal  supporter  of  the  World’s  Stu- 
dent Christian  Federation,  that  great  Christian  organi- 
zation binding  together  the  students  of  all  countries. 
When  the  delegates  of  forty  different  nations  came 
together  at  Lake  Mohonk  in  1913,  for  the  biennial 
convention  of  the  Federation,  Miss  Dodge  was  their 


GREYSTON,  RIVERDALE  ON  THE  HUDSON 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND 


1B5 

first  hostess.  Dainty  little  ladies  from  Japan,  wistful- 
eyed women  from  Russia,  eager-faced  girls  from 
China,  timid  folk  from  Finland  in  quaint  white  student 
caps,  sturdy  North  American  Indians,  vigorous-think- 
ing-and-speaking  men  and  women  from  Germany, 
Great  Britain,  Portugal — every  land  under  the  sun  al- 
most— mingled  together  on  “ Greyston’s  ” green  lawn 
and  felt  no  more  strangers  or  foreigners,  for,  though 
some  of  them  could  not  understand  the  words  their 
hostess  spoke,  they  knew  that  her  eyes  and  hand-clasp 
had  called  them  friends.  It  is  because  Miss  Dodge 
cared  for  all  girls  that  the  World’s  Student  Christian 
Federation  has  been  able  to  send  a woman  secretary 
to  organize  women  students  into  Christian  movements 
in  Russia,  Germany,  France,  Switzerland,  Austria, 
Italy,  and  other  European  countries,  and  to  strengthen 
the  work  already  begun  in  Europe,  Asia,  Africa,  Aus- 
tralia, and  America. 

More  than  forty  years  ago  far-seeing  missionary 
workers  started  a school  for  girls  in  Constantinople, 
for  the  purpose  of  giving  Christian  education  to  the 
young  women  of  the  Near  East.  As  the  years  went 
on  the  opportunities  of  this  school  grew  steadily.  Girls 
came  to  it  from  every  part  of  the  Turkish  empire, 
from  Persia  and  Russia  and  the  Balkan  states,  from 
Albania  and  the  islands  of  the  ^Egean  sea,  and  went 
out  from  it  to  be  leaders.  In  1904  the  president  of  the 
college  went  to  Miss  Dodge  and  told  her  what  this 
college  could  do  in  transforming  the  life  of  the  Near 
East  by  opening  its  doors  wide  to  young  women,  and 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


1 86 

sending  them  out  from  their  years  of  study  under  vital 
Christian  influence  to  be  strong,  steady,  educated 
leaders. 

Miss  Dodge  at  once  responded  to  this  call.  She 
accepted  membership  on  an  advisory  committee  in  New 
York,  later  she  became  a trustee,  then  vice-president  of 
the  board  of  trustees,  and  later  the  president  of  the 
board.  The  years  during  which  she  gave  so  much  of 
her  thought  and  strength  and  money  to  Constantinople 
College  were  perhaps  the  most  critical  period  in  its 
history.  The  revolution  in  Turkey  occurred  during 
this  time,  in  1908,  and  partly  in  consequence  of  it  the 
college  grew  steadily  both  in  numbers  and  in  in- 
fluence. The  new  government  gave  it  protection  and 
support  and  sent  students  to  it  on  government  scholar- 
ships; Mohammedans  who  a few  years  ago  would  have 
killed  their  daughters  rather  than  permit  them  to  go  to 
a Christian  school  have  sent  their  children  there  in 
large  numbers.  In  1914  there  were  sixty-three  Mo- 
hammedan students  enrolled.  When  Miss  Dodge  first 
came  into  the  board,  the  college  was  housed  in  old  and 
inadequate  buildings  at  Scutari;  now  it  is  in  a beautiful 
new  home  on  the  heights  of  Arneutkey ; then  there  were 
less  than  sixty  students  in  the  college  department,  in 
1914  there  were  one  hundred  and  thirty-eight  enrolled 
in  college  courses  and  a still  larger  number  in  the 
preparatory  department.  The  last  railroad  journey 
Miss  Dodge  made  was  to  Boston,  to  attend  a meeting 
of  the  board  of  trustees  of  her  beloved  Constantinople 
College. 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND  187 

The  Great  Friend  of  all  the  world  looked  into  the 
hearts  of  folks  and  found  that  some  were  weary  and 
discouraged,  some  were  crushed  and  helpless,  some 
were  lonely  and  hungry,  some  were  cold  and  careless, 
some  were  selfish  and  sinful,  and  all  were  needing  a 
friend.  Then  he  looked  up  into  his  Father’s  face  and 
said,  “ For  their  sakes,  I consecrate  myself.”  And  she 
who  followed  in  his  steps  said  that  to  him.  All  that 
she  had,  all  that  she  was,  she  consecrated  in  his  name, 
to  those  who  needed  her  friendship. 

“ Who  within  our  acquaintance  so  rigidly  econo- 
mized and  so  wisely  utilized  this  great  talent?”  asks 
one  who  worked  with  her.  Her  days  were  crowded  full 
from  early  morning  until  evening,  and  she  limited  her 
summer  vacations  to  two  weeks.  Few  women,  even 
among  her  working  girl  friends,  were  such  hard  work- 
ers as  Miss  Dodge,  or  had  so  little  time  to  them- 
selves. “ I too  am  a working  girl,”  she  used  to  say, 
“ only  I happen  to  have  had  my  wages  paid  in  advance.” 
Those  who  knew  the  colossal  tasks  to  which  Miss 
Dodge  set  her  hand,  and  knew  too  her  almost  miracu- 
lous thoughtfulness  in  the  “ little  kindnesses  which 
most  leave  undone  or  despise  ” could  scarcely  believe 
that  she  could  do  so  much.  The  need  of  a world 
for  her  constrained  her,  and  she  could  not  throw 
away  the  time  in  which  she  might  be  serving.  Yet  she 
never  seemed  hurried.  How  often  her  mere  presence, 
the  contagion  of  her  calmness,  her  quiet  voice  quoting, 
“ Sit  still,  my  daughter,”  have  brought  peace  to  those 
who  were  anxious  about  many  things.  “ Here  was 


i8 8 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


one  who  had  no  time  to  waste  upon  herself,”  says  one 
who  watched  her  life  understandingly.  “ For  their 
sakes  ” she  spent  her  time  for  others,  never  for  her- 
self; for  their  sakes  she  carefully  planned  ahead  the 
expenditure  of  every  hour  that  each  might  be  used  to 
the  greatest  advantage;  for  their  sakes  she  was  so 
careful  in  the  keeping  of  appointments  that  her  prompt- 
ness was  proverbial  and  none  can  remember  that  she 
was  ever  even  a little  late  for  anything. 

She  consecrated  her  mind  to  the  service  of  folks; 
that  great,  clear  deep-thinking  mind,  which  Pierpont 
Morgan  called  “ the  finest  business  brain  in  the  United 
States,  not  excepting  that  of  any  man.”  Miss  Dodge 
had  wealth,  but  she  might  have  had  far  greater  wealth 
had  she  given  her  thought  to  business  interests.  It  is 
doubtful,  however,  whether  such  an  idea  ever  occurred 
to  her;  as  her  whole  thought  was  to  serve  her  friends, 
and  she  devoted  the  strength  of  her  mind  to  their  needs 
and  problems.  For  their  sakes  she  kept  her  mind  big 
and  free  from  prejudice.  “ Her  great  work,”  some 
one  says,  “ was  not  only  great  because  she  brought  to 
it  abundant  means  and  great  business  energy,  but  it 
was  great  because  she  came  to  everything  with  an  abso- 
lutely open  mind.”  For  their  sakes  she  thought  deeply 
and  fearlessly  and  far.  It  was  not  enough  for  her  to 
look  ahead  five  years  or  ten;  she  took,  it  has  been  said, 
“ the  hundred  year  view.” 

Few  people  have  ever  been  so  careful  in  the  use  of 
money  as  was  Miss  Dodge.  “ The  wages  paid  in  ad- 
vance ” were  large,  but  never  large  enough  to  be  used 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND  189 

for  unnecessary  luxuries.  If  Miss  Dodge  was  ever 
extravagant  it  was  not  for  her  own  but  for  her  friends’ 
pleasure.  It  did  not  take  her  long  to  decide  to  give 
many  thousands  to  promote  a cause  that  would  benefit 
her  friends,  but  she  did  not  expend  even  a very  small 
sum  for  something  for  her  own  use  until  careful 
thought  had  convinced  her  that  it  was  a real  necessity 
to  her.  And  gifts  big  and  little,  to  a great  organiza- 
tion or  to  a person,  went  with  the  simple  words  “ From 
a friend.” 

Once  a guest  from  a far-away  land  of  grinding 
poverty  and  desperate  suffering  was  troubled  because 
of  the  money  expended  in  making  Miss  Dodge’s  homes 
in  New  York  and  Riverdale  the  places  of  beauty  and 
comfort  that  they  were.  But  before  she  went  away 
she  had  begun  to  understand,  for  she  had  come  to  see 
something  of  the  way  in  which  Miss  Dodge’s  homes 
were  used.  Miss  Dodge  did  not  count  even  her  own 
home  as  hers  to  enjoy,  but  rather  as  an  instrument 
for  the  service  of  her  friends;  and  it  was  for  their 
sakes  that  she  made  it  restful  and  radiant.  There 
wTere  many  large  gatherings  in  both  homes,  meetings 
and  conferences,  dinners  and  luncheons,  and  week- 
end gatherings  innumerable,  none  of  them  purposeless, 
but  all  of  them  for  the  sake  of  helping.  It  would  be 
interesting  to  have  a list  of  the  organizations  for  the 
service  of  people  which  had  their  birth  at  262  Madison 
Avenue,  New  York  City.  But  Miss  Dodge  loved  best 
of  all  to  use  her  home  to  rest  and  refresh  and  cheer. 
Lonely  folk  were  sure  of  a special  welcome ; tired  folk 


190 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


began  to  be  rested  the  minute  their  hostess-friend 
greeted  them ; and  troubled,  struggle-worn  folk  found 
soothing  and  strength  in  the  quiet  of  that  House  of 
Friendliness.  Truly  it  was  “ a house  by  the  side  of  the 
road,”  but  the  races  of  men  did  not  go  by;  they  turned 
in  with  their  problems  and  heartaches  and  needs,  and 
their  friend  saw  them  all,  and  from  the  sincere  depths 
of  a humble  heart  thanked  them  for  coming.  Few 
people  have  been  so  busy ; few  have  been  so  absolutely 
accessible  at  all  times. 

“ Her  visitors,”  a close  friend  writes,  “ were  young 
artists  seeking  engagements,  brides  who  wanted  her 
recommendation  before  opening  a household  charge 
account,  invalids  who  wanted  a change  of  climate,  self- 
supporting  women  who  had  lent  their  savings  on  poor 
security,  heiresses  who  wanted  advice  about  charitable 
donations,  lawyers  who  were  drawing  up  their  clients’ 
wills,  girls  who  wanted  her  to  meet  their  fiances,  early 
schoolmates  who  loved  to  be  in  the  mere  presence  of 
this  unselfish  worker,  representatives  of  ill-conceived 
or  immature  projects,  people  with  letters,  salaried  co- 
workers in  the  different  movements  who  forgot  the 
official  tie  and  loved  the  personal  acquaintance.” 

And  whatever  they  had  come  for,  all  the  folk  who 
sought  her  went  away  gallant-hearted  and  glad-eyed, 
for  to  all  of  them  she  had  given  the  golden  gift  of 
her  faith  in  them,  a faith  which  did  pot  simply  pas- 
sively believe,  but  which  was  actively  creative.  “ More 
than  any  woman  of  our  generation,”  one  who  knew 
her  well  has  said,  “ she  was  a builder  and  maker  of 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND 


191 

human  character,  and  always  by  the  method  of  faith. 
She  agreed  with  Hocking  when  he  says,  ‘ What  I be- 
lieve of  my  fellow  men  goes  far  to  determine  what  my 
fellow  men  actually  are/  ” She  was  a friend  of  folks, 
and  “ a friend  is  one  who  summons  us  to  our  best.” 
One  of  those  who  knew  her  best  says,  “ There  was 
refuge  in  her  presence.  She  was  certain  to  under- 
stand.” Yes,  she  was  like  the  shadow  of  a great  rock, 
but  she  was  also  like  fountains  of  living  water.  Liter- 
ally hundreds  found  not  only  refuge  and  rest  in  her 
presence,  but  in  her  splendid  faith  in  them  they  found 
too  a new  vigor  and  a courage  all  but  lost. 

It  was  a shining  thing,  that  faith  of  hers,  born  not  of 
lack  of  knowledge,  but  of  years  of  experience  with 
folks,  all  kinds  of  folks,  folks  who  had  failed  and 
failed  and  failed  again,  as  well  as  those  who  had 
marched  gallantly  and  steadily  onward.  Often  and 
often  it  was  the  faith  that  is  veritably  the  substance  of 
things  hoped  for , but  unseen,  but  it  was  a faith  that 
never  wavered,  never  grew  dim,  never  lost  its  joyous 
confidence. 

One  thing  more  Miss  Dodge  gave  to  each  of  the 
hundreds  of  those  who  called  her  friend — herself. 
Her  correspondence  was  colossal,  but  no  letter,  how- 
ever full  of  business  it  might  be,  ever  lacked  the  warm, 
living  throb  of  a friendly  heart.  She  could  not  have 
been  impersonal.  Although  writing  was  very  painful, 
because  of  a form  of  writer’s  cramp  from  which  she 
suffered  for  years,  she  wrote  hundreds  of  notes  by 
hand  that  she  might  give  herself  more  completely  in 


192 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


them.  Those  that  had  to  be  dictated  were  always 
personally  signed  and  sent  in  envelopes  addressed  by 
her.  She  was  sure  to  learn  of  illness,  however  slight, 
and,  if  she  were  too  far  away  to  come  herself,  her 
flowers  or  a thoughtful  note  were  always  there.  She 
who  ever  carried  the  burden  of  great  organizations 
and  great  causes  in  her  mind  and  on  her  heart  always 
had  time  for  the  little  things  which  other  people  were 
too  busy  to  remember.  Perhaps  none  of  her  relatives 
will  miss  her  quite  so  much  as  those  older  ones  who 
for  the  first  time  in  many  years  are  failing  to  receive 
the  weekly  letter  which  meant  more  and  more  to  them 
as  the  years  went  on.  Painful  though  writing  was, 
her  service  through  letters  was  unceasing.  Every 
Monday  morning  for  twenty  years  the  postman  stopped 
at  the  door  of  a little  home  where  one  of  her  “ girls  ” 
lived,  with  a friendly  message  from  Miss  Dodge.  An- 
other one  of  those  girls  had  had  her  weekly  note  for 
thirty  years.  Several  of  them  treasure  warm  afghans 
which  Miss  Dodge  somehow  found  time  to  crochet  for 
them  during  the  full  years  when  an  invalid  mother 
claimed  her  thought  and  care.  If  Miss  Dodge  thought 
some  one  in  a meeting  which  she  was  attending  looked 
exhausted,  the  tired  one  found  a carriage  at  the  door 
to  take  her  home.  Her  own  automobile  was  busy  dur- 
ing such  meetings  taking  an  invalid  or  a group  of  little 
children  for  an  outing.  Children  were  such  a constant 
joy  to  her!  All  the  babies  in  her  own  family  and 
the  families  of  her  friends  cuddled  into  her  great 
warm  heart  and  found  it  one  of  the  coziest,  sunshini- 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND  193 

est  nooks  in  the  big  new  world  into  which  they  had 
come. 

Miss  Dodge  was  never  too  busy  to  think  of  folks 
who  were  strangers  and  might  be  lonely.  A visitor 
to  New  York  loves  to  remember  what  happened  on 
her  wedding  anniversary,  which  bade  fair  to  be  a dis- 
mal day  because  her  husband  had  unexpectedly  been 
prevented  from  joining  her.  Somehow  Miss  Dodge 
learned  of  this  disappointment,  and  a box  of  wonder- 
ful roses  and  carnations  and  violets  straightway  car- 
ried a sympathetic  message  to  the  forlorn  little  lady. 
“ Oh,  she  loves  me  and  understands  me,  and  she  wishes 
me  to  know  it;  and  she  has  sent  me  so  many  flowers 
that  I may  have  the  pleasure  of  giving  some  of  them  to 
others,”  was  the  little  woman’s  first  thought,  and  she 
almost  forgot  her  disappointment  in  sharing  the  flower 
messengers  with  a young  bride  who  found  the  strange 
great  city  a lonely  place,  with  a brave  working  girl 
making  a plucky  fight  against  heavy  odds,  and  a tired 
invalid. 

After  all  it  was  the  best  gift  Miss  Dodge  had  to 
give — that  of  herself,  and  it  was  that  gift  more  than 
all  the  others  that  won  for  her  the  trust  of  those  who 
did  not  trust  easily,  and  the  love  of  all  kinds  of  peo- 
ple. They  all  claimed  her  as  their  personal  friend. 
Some  one  said  to  a company  of  girls  the  other  day, 
“ I want  to  call  you  ‘ dear  girls,’  as  Miss  Dodge  would 
have  done.”  But  these  working  girls  who  had  known 
her  whispered  to  each  other,  “ No;  she  would  have 
said  ‘ dear  friends ” It  was  the  joy  of  knowing  Miss 


194 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


Dodge  her  friend,  that  sent  a little  cleaning  woman 
to  her  employer,  face  ashine,  because  she  had  seen  a 
letter  addressed  to  her  in  the  hall.  “ Oh,  do  you  know 
her  too  ? ” she  exclaimed,  and  those  two  friends  of  hers 
sat  down  together  and  talked  of  her,  the  cleaning  all 
forgotten.  After  she  had  gone  two  little  working  girls 
were  talking  together  in  a street-car.  “ We’ve  lost  our 
best  friend,”  they  said.  “ She  was  everybody’s  friend, 
but  she  loved  girls  most.  That’s  why  she  was  so  in- 
terested in  the  Young  Women’s  Christian  Association. 
Nobody  ever  went  to  her  but  what  they  found  a 
friend.”  The  one  who  heard  did  not  need  any  name 
to  tell  her  of  whom  they  were  speaking.  Everywhere 
the  same  thing  was  being  said  in  many  different  let- 
ters, from  many  different  lips, — “ she  was  my  best 
friend,” — the  very  same  words,  over  and  over  again. 

Few  people  have  ever  given  so  lavishly  of  so  many 
things  as  did  Miss  Dodge;  and  few  have  ever  been 
so  unconscious  of  the  greatness  and  the  value  of  their 
gifts.  She  who  faced  tremendous  tasks  with  magnifi- 
cent courage,  often  gave  very  timidly.  Invitations  to 
her  home  were  offered  with  diffidence,  and  the  assur- 
rance  that  they  need  not  be  accepted  if  it  would  be 
in  any  way  inconvenient.  Then,  when  the  guests  tried 
after  they  had  gone  to  write  her  a little  of  how  much 
the  visit  had  meant,  she  wrote  them  to  say  how  much 
she  appreciated  their  kindness  in  coming.  Her  grati- 
tude for  the  acceptance  of  her  wonderful  gifts  al- 
most wrung  the  heart,  in  its  unconsciousness  of  the 
value  of  what  she  gave.  It  was  this  deep,  genuine 


THE  STORY  OF  A FRIEND 


195 


humility  which  made  her  shrink  from  any  kind  of  pub- 
licity or  acclaim,  which  made  her  as  some  one  has  said, 
“ The  most  prominent,  least  known  woman  in 
America.” 

And  it  is  partly  because  she  was  so  humble  that  she 
was  so  great.  She  felt  that  she  could  learn  of  every 
one.  She  knew  that  she  needed  her  friends  and  what 
they  could  give  her,  even  as  they  needed  her  and  what 
she  could  give  them.  In  the  superb  strength  of  her 
womanhood  she  often  turned  aside  to  the  hospital 
where  one  of  her  factory  friends  lay  for  many  months, 
seeking  her  advice  and  guidance  in  her  work  for  girls. 
When  she  took  up  the  presidency  of  the  National 
Board  of  the  Young  Women’s  Christian  Association 
she  did  it  very  humbly;  but  she  said  that  she  could  not 
have  done  it  at  all  had  it  not  been  for  what  her  girl 
friends  had  taught  her. 

Truly,  as  one  who  watched  her  beautiful  pilgrim- 
age with  understanding  eyes  says,  Miss  Dodge  was 
of  that  company  who  “ in  a strong  light  shrink  aside ; 
yet  walk  in  a radiance  all  their  own,  their  faces  alight 
with  the  serenity  we  call  divine,  the  plainest  counte- 
nance among  them  beautified  by  inward  peace.  Of  all 
who  came  into  the  observer’s  view  none  are  as  fettered 
as  these,  none  as  little  free  to  go  their  own  way,  to  live 
their  lives  at  ease  apart.  Not  if  great  riches  be  theirs 
can  they  roam  whereso’er  they  wish  and  spend  them- 
selves as  they  please,  for  their  hearts  are  no  longer 
theirs,  nor  even  their  hands : the  first  they  have  given 
away  to  all  mankind;  the  second  serve  others,  but 


COMRADES  IN  SERVICE 


196 

them  no  longer.  Theirs  are  the  heaviest  chains  of 
servitude  willingly  borne  as  though  the  wearers  felt 
them  not,  though  deeply  they  cut  into  the  flesh.  By 
them  no  appeal  can  go  unanswered;  their  fate  is  to 
respond,  quiveringly,  to  every  note  of  suffering  and  of 
need.  In  their  souls  has  been  kindled  ‘ the  passionate 
pity  for  the  joyless/  for  them  the  purest  visions  of 
youth  have  not  faded,  nor  altered.”  1 

“ To  respond,  quiveringly,  to  every  note  of  suffering 
and  of  need.”  A friend  of  folks  will  always  suffer 
much.  Every  trouble  that  came  to  one  of  her  friends 
meant  keen  pain  to  Miss  Dodge’s  great  heart.  Rainy 
days  always  hurt  her  because  her  girls  were  out  in 
the  storm  and  she  could  not  shield  them.  The  great 
European  war  broke  her  heart.  From  all  over  the 
world  letters  and  cablegrams  came  to  her  bringing 
piteous  appeals.  She  gave  to  the  uttermost,  and  suf- 
fered agony  because  she  could  do  no  more.  One  who 
was  near  her  in  those  days  says : “ She  is  the  first  of 
my  personal  friends  to  be  killed  by  the  war.”  It  costs 
to  be  a friend  of  folks — to  folks  of  all  the  world. 

But  it  pays  to  be  a friend  of  folks — to  folks  of  all 
the  world.  The  world  is  nearer  the  heart  of  the 
Great  Friend  to-day,  because  this  child  of  his  was  will- 
ing to  pay  the  cost,  and,  holding  fast  to  his  hand,  look- 
ing up  into  his  eyes,  trod  the  Way  of  Friendly  Hearts 
with  unfaltering  feet. 

1 Oswald  Garrison  Villard  in  the  Association  Monthly , March, 

1915. 


Mission  Study  Courses 


“Anywhere,  provided  it  be  forward.” — David  Livingstone. 


Prepared  under  the  direction  of  the 
MISSIONARY  EDUCATION  MOVEMENT 

OF  THE  UNITED  STATES  AND  CANADA 


Educational  Committee:  G.  F.  Sutherland,  Chairman;  A. 
E.  Armstrong,  J.  I.  Armstrong,  Frank  L.  Brown,  Hugh  L. 
Burleson,  W.  W.  Cleland,  W.  E.  Doughty,  H.  Paul  Douglass, 
Arthur  R.  Gray,  R.  A.  Hutchison,  B.  Carter  Milliken,  John 
M.  Moore,  John  H.  Poorman,  T.  Bronson  Ray,  Jay  S.  Stowell. 


The  Forward  Mission  Study  Courses  are  an  outgrowth  of 
a conference  of  leaders  in  young  people's  mission  work,  held 
in  New  York  City,  December,  1901.  To  meet  the  need  that 
was  manifested  at  that  conference  for  mission  study  text- 
books suitable  for  young  people,  two  of  the  delegates,  Pro- 
fessor Amos  R.  Wells,  of  the  United  Society  of  Christian 
Endeavor,  and  Mr.  S.  Earl  Taylor,  Chairman  of  the  General 
Missionary  Committee  of  the  Epworth  League,  projected  the 
Mission  Study  Courses.  These  courses  have  been  officially 
adopted  by  the  Missionary  Education  Movement,  and  are  now 
under  the  immediate  direction  of  the  Educational  Committee 
of  the  Movement.  The  books  of  the  Movement  are  now  being 
used  by  more  than  forty  home  and  foreign  mission  boards  and 
societies  of  the  United  States  and  Canada. 

The  aim  is  to  publish  a series  of  text-books  covering  the 
various  home  and  foreign  mission  fields  and  problems  and 
written  by  leading  authorities. 


The  following  text-books  having  a sale  of  over  1,500,000  have 
been  published : 

1.  The  Price  of  Africa.  Biographical.  By  S.  Earl  Taylor. 

2.  Into  All  the  World.  A general  survey  of  missions.  By 
Amos  R.  Wells. 

3.  Princely  Men  in  the  Heavenly  Kingdom.  Biographical. 
By  Harlan  P.  Beach. 

4.  Sunrise  in  the  Sunrise  Kingdom.  Revised  Edition.  A 
study  of  Japan.  By  John  H.  DeForest. 

5.  Heroes  of  the  Cross  in  America.  Home  Missions.  Bio- 
graphical. By  Don  O.  Shelton. 

6.  Daybreak  in  the  Dark  Continent.  Revised  Edition.  A 
study  of  Africa.  By  Wilson  S.  Naylor. 

7.  The  Christian  Conquest  of  India.  A study  of  India. 
By  James  M.  Thoburn. 

8.  Aliens  or  Americans?  A study  of  Immigration.  By 
Howard  B.  Grose. 

9.  The  Uplift  of  China.  Revised  Edition.  A study  of 
China.  By  Arthur  H.  Smith. 

10.  The  Challenge  of  the  City.  A study  of  the  City.  By 
Josiah  Strong. 

11.  The  Why  and  How  of  Foreign  Missions.  A study  of 
the  relation  of  the  home  Church  to  the  foreign  missionary  enter- 
prise. By  Arthur  J.  Brown. 

12.  The  Moslem  World.  A study  of  the  Mohammedan 
world.  By  Samuel  M.  Zwemer. 

13.  The  Frontier.  A study  of  the  New  West.  By  Ward 
Platt. 

14.  South  America:  Its  Missionary  Problems.  A study  of 
South  America.  By  Thomas  B.  Neely. 

15.  The  Upward  Path:  The  Evolution  of  a Race.  A study 
of  the  Negro.  By  Mary  Helm. 

16.  Korea  in  Transition.  A study  of  Korea.  By  James  S. 
Gale. 

1 7.  Advance  in  the  Antilles.  A study  of  Cuba  and  Porto 
Rico.  By  Howard  B.  Grose. 

18.  The  Decisive  Hour  of  Christian  Missions.  A study 
of  conditions  throughout  the  non-Christian  world.  By  John  R. 
Mott. 

19.  India  Awakening.  A study  of  present  conditions  in 
India.  By  Sherwood  Eddy. 

20.  The  Church  of  the  Open  Country.  A study  of  the 
problem  of  the  Rural  Church.  By  Warren  H.  Wilson. 

21.  The  Call  of  the  World.  A survey  of  conditions  at  home 
and  abroad  of  challenging  interest  to  men.  By  W.  E.  Doughty. 

22.  The  Emergency  in  China.  A study  of  present-day  con- 
ditions in  China.  By  F.  L.  Hawks  Pott. 

23.  Mexico  To-day:  Social,  Political,  and  Religious  Con- 

ditions. A study  of  present-day  conditions  in  Mexico.  By 
George  B.  Winton. 


24  Immigrant  Forces.  A study  of  the  immigrant  in  his 
home  and  American  environment.  By  William  P.  Shriver. 

25.  The  New  Era  in  Asia.  Contrast  of  early  and  present 
conditions  in  the  Orient.  By  Sherwood  Eddy. 

26.  The  Social  Aspects  of  Foreign  Missions.  A study  of 
the  social  achievements  of  foreign  missions.  By  W.  H.  P. 
Faunce. 

27.  The  New  Home  Missions.  A study  of  the  social  achieve- 
ments and  social  program  of  home  missions.  By  H.  Paul 
Douglass. 

28.  The  American  Indian  on  the  New  Trail.  A story  of 
the  Red  Men  of  the  United  States  and  the  Christian  gospel.  By 
Thomas  C.  Moffett. 

29.  The  Individual  and  the  Social  Gospel.  A study  of  the 
individual  in  the  local  church  and  his  relation  to  the  social  mes- 
sage of  the  gospel.  By  Shailer  Mathews. 

30.  Rising  Churches  in  Non-Christian  Lands.  A study  of 
the  native  Church  and  its  development  in  the  foreign  mission 
field.  By  Arthur  J.  Brown. 

31.  The  Churches  at  Work.  A statement  of  the  work  of  the 
churches  in  the  local  community  in  the  United  States.  By 
Charles  L.  White. 

32.  Efficiency  Points.  The  Bible,  Service,  Giving,  Prayer, 
— four  conditions  of  efficiency.  By  W.  E.  Doughty. 

In  addition  to  the  above  courses,  the  following  have  been  pub- 
lished especially  for  use  among  younger  persons: 

1.  Uganda's  White  Man  of  Work.  The  story  of  Alexander 
M.  Mackay  of  Africa.  By  Sophia  Lyon  Fahs. 

2.  Servants  of  the  King.  A series  of  eleven  sketches  of 
famous  home  and  foreign  missionaries.  By  Robert  E.  Speer. 

3.  Under  Marching  Orders.  The  story  of  Mary  Porter 
Gamewell  of  China.  By  Ethel  Daniels  Hubbard. 

4.  Winning  the  Oregon  Country.  The  story  of  Marcus 
Whitman  and  Jason  Lee  in  the  Oregon  country.  By  John  T. 
Faris. 

5.  The  Black  Bearded  Barbarian.  The  story  of  George 
Leslie  Mackay  of  Formosa.  By  Marian  Keith. 

6.  Livingstone  the  Pathfinder.  The  story  of  David  Living- 
stone. By  Basil  Mathews. 

7.  Ann  of  Ava.  The  story  of  Ann  Hasseltine  Judson  of 
Burma.  By  Ethel  Daniels  Hubbard. 

8.  Comrades  in  Service.  Eleven  brief  biographies  of  Chris- 
tian workers.  By  Margaret  E.  Burton. 

These  books  are  published  by  mutual  arrangement  among  the 
home  and  foreign  mission  boards,  to  whom  all  orders  should  be 
addressed.  They  are  bound  uniformly  and  are  sold  at  60  cents 
in  cloth,  and  40  cents  in  paper;  prepaid.  Nos.  21,  29,  and  32 
are  25  cents  in  .cloth,  prepaid. 


magazine  girls 

New 

The  Whole  World  for  Its  Scope. 
Promotes  World  Peace. 

Cultivates  the  Missionary  Spirit. 

Unique 

Contains  True  Stories  of  Life,  Ac- 
tion, and  Bravery. 

Develops  High  Ideals. 

Describes  the  Customs  of  Peoples  in 
AH  Lands. 

Attractive 

Bound  in  a Beautiful,  Appropriate 
Cover  in  Colors. 

Abundantly  Illustrated  with  Original 
Drawings  and  Photographs. 
Printed  on  Excellent,  High-finish 
Paper. 

^ EVERYLAND  in  the  Home.  Why  not 
supplement  your  influence  among  boys  and 
girls? 

EVERYLAND  in  the  Sunday-school.  A 
rich  source  for  missionary  story  material. 
An  excellent  award,  Christmas,  or  birthday 
gift. 

EVERYLAND  is  issued  quarterly,  sixty- 
four  pages  and  cover.  Subscription  price, 
50  cents  a year,  10  cents  extra  for  Canada, 
and  20  cents  extra  for  foreign  postage. 

EVERYLAND,  156  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York  City 


1 1012  01198  8708 


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